


Fire and Water

by leoraine



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: Angst, Case Fic, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-12
Updated: 2011-02-12
Packaged: 2017-10-15 14:39:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 71,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/161818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leoraine/pseuds/leoraine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Several victims bear the same sign of the killer . Is it a new serial killer emerging or something totally diferrent? Whatever the case, Nick and Grissom get thrown right into the middle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Beta-read: Andrea (TangledPencils)  
> Set after season 3 episode Hich and Low

Fire and Water

by Nicol Leoraine

Chapter 1

As her lungs filled with water, the woman's fight ceased. Her oxygen deprived brain shut down and her body gave the last jerking movements before it went still. After a moment, the hands that kept the woman's head under the water pulled the limp body out to the shore.

Without a word, the two men dragged her to the small boat waiting nearby. With several grunts they pushed the boat across the sand until it was floating on the water, then the older one got in next to the body, while the younger cast them off the shore, then pulled himself inside, landing next to the still woman. Using the paddles, they made it a good ninety yards toward the middle of the lake, where they stopped paddling and turned to the body.

The young man touched the still face, eyeing the porcelain skin and the light bluish lips in the light of the moon.

''Finish it,'' said the other man and knelt down to the body, his eyes glinting with excitement. Reaching to his side he pulled a knife from its scabbard, and handed it to the younger man with care. As he took it, his fingers trailed down the delicate blade, with much the same care as they did on the woman's skin.

Raising the knife, preparing to strike, the young man stopped his movement. The knife glinted in the moonlight for a second mirroring his own face. The man stared, unblinking, until his image vanished in the darkness, then he plunged the knife into the lifeless body, watching in fascination as the crimson covered her chest. Then without a word, he handed the knife over and watched as the older man precisely carved a symbol onto the victim's forehead.

When he finished, the knife was cleaned in the water and returned to its scabbard. The two men looked at each other and in silent understanding reached for the arms and legs of the victim, lifting up the woman, while at the same time trying to keep their balance.

Groaning from the effort, the two men threw the body into the water with a resounding splash, but they weren't concerned by the sound, knowing there was no one who could hear it. Watching the body sink and vanish under the murky surface, the older man let out a satisfied sigh.

''Shall the water take her body, as we took her soul.'' Then he turned to the younger man whose pale face was covered with blood, as were his hands and clothes.

''You did good, Jonah.'' Jonah took the praise without a word. He sat down at his bench, ignoring the wet puddle of blood staining his shoes. The other man simply nodded then turned, grabbing the paddles and the boat headed to the shore.

The blood didn't matter, the evidence would be disposed of…but Jonah would never forget the faint pulse beating under his fingers before he so brutally ended the life.

The building in which the CSI's worked was bustling with life despite the late hour. Half of the day shift was still there, finishing some of their cases in the labs, enjoying the air-conditioning. The summer had just started but the heat was already getting unbearable. When Nick walked into the break room, his shirt was already damp from perspiration. He automatically headed for the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water, opening it with delight and taking a long drink.

''Don't tell me you were running all the way to work, Cowboy,'' came a snide remark from behind, then a slim body pushed around him and reached for some juice. Nick raised his eyebrows, capping the bottle and making some space.

''Hello to you too, Sidle. The A/C in my car died and it's still around 90 degrees Fahrenheit outside. Let me tell you, driving with the windows down didn't help'."

Sara chuckled, and then screwed her face up in a rather exaggerated grimace.

''Well, did you think about maybe changing your shirt or taking a shower? I'm sure everyone would appreciate it, especially me."

''Are you saying I smell?'' Nick asked innocently.

''Well no, if you were one of Doc Robbins patients, I would say you're just ripe enough,'' she said and ducked when the newspaper from the table went flying at her.

''Missed,'' she chuckled, then suddenly cleared her throat and turned almost serious. Nick frowned at the quick change, and almost instinctively turned, only to see their shift supervisor Gil Grissom standing in the door, arms crossed and a frown on his face.

''I hope it wasn't the one with the crossword,'' he uttered after a moment. Nick quickly bent down and retrieved the newspaper, handing it to Grissom with an apologetic look.

''Any new cases, boss?'' Nick asked when he saw the clipboard with the assignment sheet in Grissom's hand.

''No, nothing so far. Warrick called in, his car broke down and he's waiting for the tow truck so he'll come in late. But I am sure you can finish the report on the Carriston case without him, Sara."

The CSI let out a sigh, but she nodded. It wasn't like she hadn't planned on doing it anyway and with the heat outside, she would be happy to do the paperwork if it meant she could stay in the air-conditioned building.

''Nick, how are you doing with the Julian case?"

''I still need to process the rope he was found on. I am pretty sure it was an accident though. The sling wasn't even tight around his neck and Doc Robbins said that he didn't suffocate. The cause of death was a brain haemorrhage…a ruptured blood vessel. Probably had the condition from birth. Brass talked with his wife. The guy didn't even know about it."

''Still, he was found hanging from a rope in his garage. There's still the question why he was there,'' Grissom reminded the younger man and Nick nodded. They had a pretty good idea of what happened, but they still needed to prove it.

''I'm on it Gris,'' Nick said and headed out to the hall, when a call stopped him and he turned back to Grissom.

''Yeah?"

''Take that shower first.''

 

The night might've started out slow, but it didn't stay that way for very long. It was always worse in the summer. The heat made people nervous, shortened tempers and fights tended to break out much more quickly. Las Vegas was known for its nightlife; lots of money was involved, along with drinking and women, and in the heat, people naturally tried to soothe the thirst with alcohol. So it was no surprise when a few minutes after midnight the CSI's got a call from detective O'Riley.

''There's a male DB in an alley behind Casino Royal. They also arrested a suspect. Warrick, you and Sara are on it. Catherine already left for a robbery at 24/7.'' Nick waited until both Warrick and Sara left, and then looked at Grissom questioningly.

''What about me? Do you want me to go after Catherine and help her out?''

''No, I have something else for you. A female DB, found in Lake Mead. They're bringing her to Doc Robbins."

''Who secured the scene?'' Nick wondered.

''There was no scene to secure, Nick. They found her in the middle of the lake. I don't have all the details, but I'm sure Doctor Robbins will help you out. The body should be there in the next hour or so.''

Without further reply, Grissom left the lab and headed for his office, leaving Nick to wonder just what their was supervisor up to. It wasn't like him to stay behind on the cases, but lately he was doing just that. Nick frowned and bit back the urge to simply ask the guy what was wrong. It wasn't his place to do. But maybe he could put out some hints to Catherine and see what she could come up with. After all, she and Grissom went way back. If there was anyone the entomologist would confide in, it was Catherine.

Shrugging off those thoughts for a while, Nick decided to finish up with the Julian case. Like he had thought, there was no evidence of foul play, only an uncanny accident with a tragic end. The man was clearing his garage. He obviously wanted to lift a rather heavy piece of an old table, preparing the rope so he could pull it off the floor alone, but somehow he slipped and managed to tangle himself up in the rope, the table already attached on the other side keeping it tight and unrelenting as the man fought for air, panicking. The rest was in the coroner's report. Now he only needed to add his own comments and close the case, so that the wife could bury her husband and get on with life, hopefully with the life insurance paid out.

He was almost done when his pager beeped and he saw the note from the pathology lab. Shooting a look at the clock on the wall he blinked, realising he'd totally lost track of time. Making his way down, he chanced a look toward Grissom's office, but all he could see was the shining light of the computer monitor behind a half closed door. He moved on, stopping only when he reached the door to the pathology lab. Taking a deep breath, he prepared himself for the smell he was sure would hit his nostrils.

He was right. Like so many times before, he had to swallow down the bile when he smelled the putrid scent of a body in decay. A drowning victim was always bad, especially if it was in the water for several days – long enough for the decomposition to start, but not long enough to leave only bones. But as he walked further into the cold room, he could see more of the victim…and the more he saw, the more he frowned. His eyes never left the face, cringing at the weird craving on her forehead, the wrinkled skin. He quickly took in the trace of blood on her blouse, as well as the wounds on her chest.

''Huh?'' he looked up a little dumbfounded when he realised that the coroner was talking to him, probably asking some question not for the first time. ''I'm sorry Doc, I didn't catch that."

''I see. Did you happen to know this young lady, Nick?"

''I-I'm not really sure. She looks kinda familiar, but...'' Nick's frown deepened as he tried to place the face, but he came up empty.

Focusing on the matter at hand, he pulled out his camera and took several photos of the still clothed body. Once they'd removed her clothing, he would need to make a photographic documentation of her wounds too.

''What happened, Doc?'' Nick asked and tore his eyes away from the woman's face, instead focusing on the coroner.

''Well, I can't tell you much right now, as I haven't had a chance to examine her. First I think you need to collect her clothes?"

''Yeah, good idea,'' Nick acknowledged, trying to push away the weird feeling and concentrate on the case. He pulled on his gloves and proceeded to cut the clothes away. Despite the victim being dead, he was working gently and efficiently, until everything was removed. He then took the woman's hands and made short work with scratching the dirt from under her fingernails. Even if most of it was washed away, he hoped that there would be something left – preferably the epitheliales of the killer. But that was only wishful thinking. Once finished, he started taking photos of the wounds in her chest, the numerous bruises on her torso and he took a special set just of the carving on her forehead.

''Okay Doc, I'm done. Can you tell me anything right now, with just a cursory exam?"

The coroner sighed at the impatience, but understood the need for answers. The more time it took to find some clues, the harder it was to catch the killer. And they had already lost several days.

''Well, by the state of the body I can tell you she was killed at least three days ago, but without a more proper exam it could've been also several weeks ago. Though there doesn't seem to be any adipocere – transformation of the fatty layer beneath the skin into a soap-like material, which would take from several weeks to months. But as that would require colder water'

''So we can assume she's been dead only few days, if I should assume by the state of her clothes,'' Nick noted and got a short nod in reply.

''What about the wounds on her chest?"

''They were caused by a sharp pointed object, probably a knife,'' the pathologist said, while continuing the exam.

''But did they cause her death? Or did she drown?"

''Good question. Is the cause of death drowning?'' The coroner slightly pushed at the woman's chest and Nick saw fine, white foam coming from the mouth and nostrils.

''Froth or foam in the airways is characteristic of drowning. It indicates that the victim was alive at the time of submersion. However, similar foam is found in deaths from other causes too, like heart failure, drug overdose or head injury. I will also need to check the contents of her stomach as well as take a good look at the lungs. While I can tell you the wounds on her chest were caused while she still had some circulation, I can't be sure that she wasn't already brain damaged from the hypoxia or dying. I will need to perform a complete autopsy for that."

Nick nodded, taking in the information. He was about to ask another question about the bruises visible on the woman's shoulders, but was interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone. The sound was rather startling in the quiet of the autopsy room and he bit his lip to stop a curse. He was just a little jumpy tonight. Seeing the caller's ID, he threw the doctor an apologizing look and walked to the furtherest end of the room before picking it up. He exchanged several words and shut the phone.

''That was Jim Brass. They found her car. I need to go and check out the crime scene. Could you make a cast from the wounds in her chest? Maybe they could help to identify the weapon."

''I'll do what I can,'' the pathologist replied with a smile and watched as the CSI rushed toward the door, just to stop and walk back.

''The clothes,'' he mumbled sheepishly and grabbed the evidence, then left Robbins alone, the man shaking his head in amusement, which quickly evaporated as he turned back to the victim. '' Well now my dear, what will you tell us?''

xxxx

Nick wasn't sure if he should feel apprehension or rather enjoy the fact that he got a solo case. He was glad that Grissom trusted him with it, but there was the weird nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach that made him think that perhaps this case wouldn't be one of the easy ones. Driving out of the city limits, he started paying more attention to the road. It was pretty dark and he knew that the locationBrass had given him was easy to miss.

He still couldn't keep himself from wondering what was behind Grissom's sudden departure from most of the case scenes. It looked almost like the criminalist was afraid to leave the office, an occurrence Nick would've never before associated with the entomologist.

Nick blinked and pulled at the wheel, when he saw the lights of a police cruiser and realised he hadjust passed the side road. He turned the car, thankful that the road was clear.

He hadn't gone very far before he saw several people standing near the police car, staring. They looked like campers, some of them wearing only swimsuits. Most of them were young, most probably students enjoying the weekend. A young cop was talking to them, probably trying to send them away but apparently not having much luck. Nick smirked at the scene, just as the cop saw his car.

Nick put on the brakes and pokedhis head out of the window.

''You need to turn around, sir, I am sorry but this road is closed.'' The cop walked up to him, looking a mite nervous and irritated by the fact that he was sweating here, instead of enjoying the A/C in his car.

Nick gave him a sympathetic smile and pulled out his ID. The cop frowned, then nodded.

"Sorry sir. It just looks like every damn tourist heard about the body, so now when they see a police car, they automatically come to take a look.''

"They giving you any trouble?" Nick asked sympathetically, but the cop quickly shook his head.

"Nah, just annoying. They're all from the camp two miles down. I think one of them found the body earlier, so they're a little edgy. Sure wouldn't want to sleep outside in a tent if there's some sicko killing people."

"I highly doubt the killer is still there," Nick said with a frown, getting only a shrug and a half smile in reply.

"You know how it goes."

"Yeah, I know. Can you tell me where Captain Brass is?"

"Just follow the road, you'll find a small parking lot. You shouldn't miss it, what with all the lights and people around,'' the cop mumbled and Nick wanted to thank him but there was another car coming their way and the cop was already walking toward it.

With a slight shake of his head, Nick left the small crowd behind and followed the young cop's directions.

Jim Brass was already waiting for him and by the frown on his face and the tense looks coming from the other cops, Nick had a feeling he wasn't in his best mood. With a sigh he climbed from his car, grabbed the kit and headed right for the detective.

"About damn time someone came," Brass mumbled and brushed the sweat from his face.

"Hello to you too, Jim," Nick replied with a slight grin, hoping the older man wouldn't bite off his head. Brass grumbled a 'sorry' and turned away, heading for the car they had found.

"Did Doc Robbins say anything useful?" he asked, even as Nick pulled out his camera and started taking photos.

"Just that the victim had probably drowned, before being stabbed. But it's not official…he still needs to do the autopsy. What happened here, Jim? I didn't really get the chance to read the report."

"In short, two teenagers went for a midnight swim. It was quite dark and they got separated. The boy, a sixteen-year-old student, found the body, floating head down in the water. At first he thought it was his girlfriend but then she appeared from behind him. He got scared, and they both started screaming. Some people heard them and called the Water Safety Patrol. By the time they came the kids were already on the shore, spilling their guts to some campers. The guys from the patrol turned on the spotlights and started the search. Found our Jane Doe."

"So, you still don't know who she is?" Nick asked, a little disappointed. He really wanted to know who that woman was…why she was so familiar to him.

"Yeah well, we had an APB out on this car, as well as its owner. It's a thirty-one-year-old Jamie Collins. She was reported missing three days ago by her husband. Still I want to take a look inside the car before contacting the guy. Was waiting for you, because of those footprints." Brass pointed at the trail left on the ground. For once, Nick was glad that the parking lot wasn't really paved with concrete, just a square of bare dusty ground. Not the most ideal place for footprints either, but at least he now knew the size of the unknown suspect's feet and probably would be able to calculate his weight too, by the depth of the print.

"Okay, give me a minute to take some shots of those footprints and to check the ground around the car."

Brass gave him a nod and watched as the CSI started working.

"So, a busy night?" Brass asked after several minutes of silence and Nick looked up at him a little puzzled.

"It could be worse. Grissom is still at the office. The others are all working some case."

That brought a frown from the detective.

"You mean that Grissom stayed at the office rather than take this case?"

"What, I'm not good enough?" Nick asked with a smirk, but Brass saw the hurt look behind it.

"Hell, you know I didn't mean it like that, Nick. Just curious. Not like Grissom to stay behind if he's not forced to."

Hearing his own thoughts out loud, Nick could only agree with the detective.

"Yeah, looks like something is bugging him," he said, trying not to smile at the light pun. Brass wasn't as careful though and grinned.

"Someone should talk to him," he noted and Nick couldn't help but roll his eyes.

"Are you volunteering?"

Brass only winced in reply and pointed at the car and their surroundings.

"Does this look like a place where a woman would go alone?" the detective asked, bringing their attention back to the case. Nick took a quick look around and shook his head.

"Not unless she was having an affair she didn't want anybody else to know about."

"So it could've been a pissed off lover?"

Nick shrugged. "Or she was kidnapped somewhere else and the car and the body were brought here to cover it up."

"In that case though, there should be some evidence of the kidnapper in the car."

"Well then, we should take a look inside," Nick said as he got up, stretching his back.

"You done?"

"With the footprints, yeah. I still have to take a look around here, check out those bushes over there and see if I can't find any tracks of another car. But I think we can look inside."

Even though the scene was well lit by the portable floodlights the Water Safety Patrol had provided them with, Nick pulled out his flashlight and leaned over to take a better look at the door.

"Doesn't look like someone had to break into the car. Either he had the keys or the victim was still alive," Nick mumbled to himself, observing that there were no scratches on the door or around the handle…though there were also other ways to get into the car, less invasive ways.

"It isn't locked," Brass noted when Nick easily opened the door, not even setting off the alarm system.

"Nope. Lucky we still found the car here."

Brass didn't comment, only took a careful step closer, watching as Nick looked through the interior of the car, pointing at the keys still in the ignition with raised eyebrows. He checked out the compartment in the centre console and eased himself out of the crouched position he was in.

"Well, whoever did this sure wasn't in it for the money. There's a one hundred bill and several credit cars." He showed the open wallet to Brass, carefully pulling out an ID and a driver's license.

"I think we can say we have a positive identification on our victim," Nick uttered after he saw the photo on the ID. There was no doubt the woman in the autopsy room was Jamie Collins. And eyeing the other photo stuffed in the wallet, he also got an answer to his question of why did she look so familiar to him.

"Damn it," he mumbled, shaking his head dejectedly as he eyed the other person on the photo.

"Nicky? Do you know her?" Brass asked with a frown, taking in Nick's unhappy demeanour.

"I met her only once," Nick said with a sigh, putting the wallet into an evidence bag, scribbling down the details of the found.

"And?" Brass pressed, fervently hoping that Nick wasn't involved with the victim. As if reading his thought, Nick shot him a bewildered look, before elaborating.

"And we had lunch. In her house. With her husband present," he added pointedly, earning a scoffing snort and a grin at the same time.

"So you know her husband?"

"Yeah," Nick replied, his voice lower than before, as he realised what that meant. His mind was already conjuring up a picture of Travis, standing in the doorway and listening to Nick telling him that his wife was dead. Another picture popped into his mind though, one where Travis stood in the morgue and had to identify his wife, the wound on her forehead exposed before his eyes. Suddenly, Nick felt slightly sick to his stomach.

"Yeah, I know him," he said quietly and took a deep breath, his look straying to the dark surface of the lake, trying to calm his insides.

Brass waited a minute, knowing that Nick needed a moment to get hold of himself, but when the silence continued, he spoke.

"Nick, is this case too personal for you? I can still call Grissom and let him take over."

"What?" That brought Nick back to reality rather quickly. "No, I'm okay," he said shaking himself and Brass saw the resolution clearly written in his eyes.

"I know Travis from Texas, he's an old buddy, but... it's not like I spend much time with him anymore. And I didn't really get to know his wife too well. It just..."

"Sucks?" Brass supplied, and Nick waved his hand, frustrated.

"Yeah, you can say that again," he said after a moment. "I don't want to be the bearer of bad news," Nick added.

"You don't have to, Nicky," Brass quickly assured him, but Nick shook his head.

"No, I have to do it. Travis has a temper, but I don't want him to hear this from a stranger."

"You can still change your mind. I won't call him until morning. No sense in waking the man."

'I doubt he's sleeping', Nick thought to himself, but didn't speak. Instead he turned to the car.

"Okay, we still have some work to do."


	2. Chapter 2

As Nick had said, Travis Andrews had a temper, one that matched his appearance and probably also the choice of his working career as a car dealer. He had the kind of personality that could charm you into buying a complete wreck – that is, unless he got angry. Jim Brass was very glad that he hadn't turned down Nick's offer to come with him. It was only just past six in the morning, but the CSI hadn't wanted to wait any longer. The car they had found was already secured and had been looked over, though there were still a few things to check out. But that could wait, Nick thought, and forced himself to calm down. He was successful, up until the moment Brass parked the car before the familiar looking two-storey house.

Now he was standing at the door, one hand pushing at the chime for all of two seconds, when the door opened and he was facing a weary, haggard looking Travis Andrews.

The man threw a look at Brass, taking notice of the gun in the holster and the badge, then turned to Nick with a mixture of confusion and fear on his face.

"What the hell are you doing here, Nick?" he all but barked and Nick took in a hissing breath, again telling himself to calm down. Then, in a quiet voice he spoke.

"I'm sorry Travis."

And that was all. The man before him blinked several times, as if trying to clear his vision, though Brass knew he was just processing the words.

"No." It wasn't more than an angry hiss, but Nick felt the force of it as if it was a physical blow. Brass watched as the man's eyes set on the criminalist and he was overcome by the feeling of foreboding.

Nick must've felt something too, because he swallowed hard and opened his mouth to say something, anything, just to stop that glare.

"Tra-" was all Nick managed to get out, when a hand shot out and in the next second he found himself pinned against the wall, Travis Andrews breathing hard into his face, the anger in his eyes replaced by raw despair.

"No!" he repeated the word, just as Brass forced him off the panting CSI.

"Stay where you are, or I will arrest you!" he barked as he pushed the man back to the door, and away from Nick, instantly berating himself that it was a mistake to bring him there.

"You okay, Nicky?"

"Yeah, I'm fine Jim," he said and tried to suppress a wince as he felt the protest of his back. He was sure the bruises left would be matching the ones from the time Travis knocked him down in their football play at school. To be frank, Nick expected some reaction from Travis, he was just taken by surprise at how fast the man was. "No harm done," he mumbled quietly and with a sigh, walked up to the now slumped form of his school friend.

"I really am sorry Travis," he repeated and got a silent nod in reply. He didn't need to tell Travis that his wife was dead. The man knew enough about his job to realise that he wouldn't be visiting just to say Hi.

"What happened?"

"We found a body in Lake Mead. Didn't identify her until we found the car."

"Sh-she drowned?" Travis stuttered, his voice not more than a whisper.

"Why don't we go inside?" Brass said, not wanting to discuss things on the front porch. Travis blankly nodded and led them to the living room. Without a word he headed for the mini-bar and poured himself a healthy dose of scotch, swallowing it in one long gulp. Shaking off the taste, he then looked at Nick with confusion written all over his face.

"She was never a good swimmer," he commented, then shook his head in frustration. "What the hell was she doing at the lake!"

"That's what we would like to know too," Brass said, throwing Nick a warning look. He didn't want the CSI to spill out all the details right now. The detective had a feeling he would get more information from Travis if the man didn't know his wife was murdered. "You reported her missing four days ago, right? Can you tell us something about it?"

"What do you want to know?" Travis barked and started pacing the small room. "She was supposed to come home from work before five. I waited until six then started calling. The secretary told me that she left the office at lunch. She had some meeting and wasn't planning on returning to the editorial office that day."

"What meeting?"

"I don't know, okay? She was a journalist, for God's sake. They never tell where they're going," he added bitterly and Brass realised that this was probably something Travis had never accepted.

"And that was the last anyone saw her?"

"To my knowledge, yes. But you're the cops, why don't you 'investigate'?" the last word sounded more like a curse and Nick mentally cringed.

"Travis... was there anyone that would want to harm her?" Nick asked slowly and a pair of narrowing eyes glared at him.

"Harm her? What-" but then realisation hit and his eyes went wide. "She didn't drown, did she?" Travis headed toward Nick, hands flailing in the air. "Someone hurt her." It was a statement, not a question and Nick looked at Brass, who was ready to hurl himself at Travis if the man as much as touched Nick. The CSI shook his head, his eyes stopping Brass in mid stride, when Travis' hands brushed through his hair in a nervous manner. Then as suddenly as he started moving, he slumped onto the couch.

"Was she ra-" Travis gulped, unable to ask the question, but Nick guessed it.

"No," he quickly supplied. He already had a preliminary report from the pathologist and the rape kit had come back as negative. "No, she wasn't." He saw the flicker of relief that quickly vanished. She was dead and there was no way to change it. Travis closed his eyes.

"Mr. Andrews?" Brass spoke after a moment.

"Just leave me alone."

"I'm sorry, but we still need to make a positive identification."

Travis blinked, looking lost all of a sudden and Nick felt a pang of guilt.

"Will you come down to the coroner's office with us, Travis?"

"I just…" the man shook his head, trying to clear it. The glass of scotch he had downed earlier on an empty stomach wasn't helping though. "I need to get some sleep. I've had hardly any sleep in the last few days. Just... leave, please."

"Call if you need a ride, okay?" Nick said, getting a silent nod in reply. He was already by the door, when Travis called out.

"Nick?"

"Yeah," he looked back.

"You will catch him, right? The bastard that killed her."

Nick knew what he was supposed to say. He knew what Travis wanted to hear, but he also knew that making false promises could be worse than outright lying. Still, seeing all the emotions pouring from his friend's eyes, he couldn't stop himself.

"I will do whatever it takes to get him, buddy."

And it was a promise he planned to fulfil.  
.

xxXXxx

Grissom was sitting behind his desk, doing literally nothing. He was just staring at the computer screen, his fingers laying on the keyboard twitching sporadically from time to time, just enough that the screen saver didn't pop up.

He knew he was acting irrationally, hiding in his office, leaving all the cases to the others. It wasn't like he didn't have that right; he was a supervisor after all. And there really had been times when the paperwork had just needed to be done. But this wasn't one of those nights and Grissom knew it. He was afraid that the rest of his team knew it too. He already had had a visit from Catherine and he'd barely managed to steer her interrogation by asking about her case. Thankfully, Greg paged her before she could realise that, for which Grissom was thankful. But he knew the quiet wouldn't last long, as both Sara and Warrick had now returned to the lab. He'd spotted Sara peeking in from the doorway, and he'd managed to look busy at the computer, so she'd just dropped her report on a corner of his desk and left.

With a sigh, Grissom pushed himself out of the chair and winced at the feeling of stiff muscles trying to work. He really needed to move.

It was already morning and the day shift were slowly trickling in. But his team was still there. He was about to head for the break room, when he heard laughter. He looked up in surprise and saw that Greg and Warrick were in a heated discussion about something, while Sara was shaking her head in amusement, sipping at her juice. He let a small smile turn up the corner of his mouth, but it didn't stay long when he noticed Catherine walking into the break room.

"Hey kids, did someone see Gris?" she asked and Grissom paused.

"Last time I saw him he was still holed up in his office, pretending to be working," Sara said in that all knowing voice and Grissom frowned. Was he really that transparent?

"Yeah well, anybody know what's bugging him?" Warrick asked and Grissom quickly changed his direction, heading for the labs.

"Coward," he thought about himself, but couldn't stop his retreat. When he saw Nick he straightened, suddenly finding a good distraction. He still didn't have Nick's report about the Jason case.

"Hey, Nick? Wait up a minute," he said, just as Nick was about to close the door. Pausing, the CSI stiffly turned.

"Yeah?"

"I need the report from the Jason case," Grissom stated and mentally cringed. He really needed to get some work done.

"Oh, sorry. It's right here," Nick walked to his desk and grabbed the report, handing it to Grissom distractedly.

"Everything okay?" Grissom asked with a frown, only now noticing how weary Nick looked. He'd seemed all right when he came to work. As if reading his thoughts, Nick put on a fake smile and shrugged.

"Just a hard case, that's all."

"That victim from the lake. How's it going?"

"Well, we have a positive identification, at last. Her husband just left the morgue. Doc Robbins also determined that the cause of death was hypoxia and shock from internal bleeding."

"How does that add up?" Grissom asked with a frown.

"She was also stabbed. But Robbins found some water in her stomach. I already took samples from the lake and I'm waiting for Greg to do the analysis."

"Do you have anything else?"

"Oh, yes... but I'm not sure if it's any help. I'm just going to look at her clothes. I found some hair in the car that doesn't belong to the vic, Greg will run it through the DNA database. There are some footprints and the Water Safety Patrol is looking out for a boat. I didn't found any blood in the car or around it, so the original crime scene must be somewhere else," Nick said with a tired sigh.

"Do you need some help?"

"No, I can handle it just fine," Nick bit back a little harshly, getting a surprised glare from Grissom. He'd asked, because he thought it would be good to work on the case with Nick. So far he seemed less inclined to start questioning him about his strange behaviour, but now Grissom realised that he wasn't the only one who had some problems.

"Nick?"

"Look man, I'm sorry. Really. I appreciate the offer, but I think I can handle this one alone."

Grissom watched him for a moment, then nodded and prepared to leave.

"Uh, Gris? Maybe... uhm, maybe you can help me with some thing." Nick said, suddenly remembering the strange wound.

"Yes?" Grissom was waiting and Nick looked at his desk, conducting a quick search through several folders, until he found what he was looking for. He pulled out a photograph and handed it to Grissom.

"I know I've seen that sign somewhere, but I can't for the hell of it remember where," he said and he showed him the photo of the carving on Jamie's forehead. Grissom put up his glasses and stared at the picture, then slowly gave it back to Nick, a frown etching his face.

"Yeah, I've seen it before too," he said, carefully choosing his words.

"Where?"

"On another body."

xxxxxxxxx

"Body? What body?" Nick asked somewhat dumbly. Grissom raised his eyebrows, then with a shake of his head reached out, silently asking for the whole file about the case. Nick gave it to him, still waiting for the reply.

"So?"

"To be exact, it was found on five bodies," Grissom finally started, his eyes scanning the report with a growing frown. "Three women and two men, all between twenty and forty years, all Caucasian. They were found at various places, each killed differently. Well, the primary cause of death was different, but the secondary was multiple stab wounds."

"You worked the case?" Nick asked, feeling the growing tension. If this were true, then Jamie's death probably wouldn't be the only one.

"No, but George Hayburn did. He was my supervisor some fifteen years ago. He died four years ago of cancer."

Nick blinked.

"I'm sorry," he started but Grissom waved him off, quickly flopping down into the chair behind Nick's desk and turning on the computer.

"That case is almost thirty years old, Nick. The killings happened in different cities across California and Nevada. There was hardly any evidence, only a few suspects that were later cleared. Five victims Nick…in a timeline of two months. Then it all stopped." Grissom snapped his fingers and Nick jerked at the sound.

"Two weeks after the last murder, a news station in L.A. got an anonymous phone call. It was a woman and she gave them an address of the killer. When the cops burst in, they found five dead bodies, each of them with a single stab wound to the heart." With a few hits on the keyboard, Grissom put in his password and opened the file. Nick leaned over his shoulder and looked at the screen, just as the pictures from the crime scene popped up. He grimaced at all the blood, but observed the scene, for a second tuning out Grissom.

The first set of pictures took in the whole room. It looked like some kind of cellar, without windows. But it was well lit and spacey, the ceiling higher than normal. The walls were originally white, now painted with symbols. The floor was full of them too only it was hard to see, because of all the blood. But there in the middle was a clear pentagram. And at each point of the symbol, there was a dead person.

"My God," Nick muttered in disgust, when he realised the youngest of them couldn't have been older than sixteen. "They were just kids."

"Not all of them, Nick. Peter Cornwall, the leader of the group would've turned twenty eight that month."

Grissom tapped some more keys and a new file opened, showing Nick the photo of a young man. He looked normal, almost shy, and definitely younger. When Nick looked down, he saw the year it was taken and realised that it was six years before Cornwall died, by a police photographer right upon Peter's arrest. Under the longer dark hair there was something in that glare that was rather unsettling. Well, more unsettling than the records Nick was just reading through.

"God, that guy spent most of his life in institutions." Nick shook his head. "Burglary, multiple assaults, sex offences... it looks like he wanted to get back to prison every time they let him out."

"Does it remind you of something, Nick?" Grissom asked as Nick silently read the report of the psychologist that was made before they released Peter Cornwall for the last time.

"It sounds just like the one about Charlie Manson. Another serial killer. What was his story?"

"In truth, we never learned. Even though there were some notes, it was more about the victims and their deaths, than about the belief that led to them."

"So you think that someone from Cornwall's group survived and started killing now?"

Grissom shrugged in reply and get up from the computer, taking off his glasses.

"I don't know, Nick. It could be a copy-cat, god knows that on that case the reporters knew almost as much as the cops. Or it could be someone who knew Cornwall from that time. Whatever the case, we should be prepared for another victim. Because I am sure there will be one."

"Damn," Nick cursed and pulled put his cell. "I should call Brass and inform him."

"Do it," he said simply and turned to leave.

"Hey, wait," Nick stopped him. "Where are you going?"

"My office," Grissom replied with raised eyebrows. "I need to re-read those files and make a call to California. Maybe I can find someone who worked on the original case."

"Oh, okay. So we're working on this together?" Nick sounded strangely nervous and relieved at the same time, which puzzled Grissom. He knew the young CSI had wanted to impress him earlier, but he thought that Nick was past that. They'd worked together quite often for the last few months and Nick was never this nervous about a case before.

"Is there some problem, Nick?" Grissom asked and Nick blinked, obviously startled by the question.

"Uh, no. I just..." The younger CSI was clearly uncertain how to approach the subject and Grissom's frown deepened.

Nick saw it and realized that he didn't have much choice. If Grissom was working the case, he would sooner or later find out, and from experience Nick knew that it was best if he told him sooner rather than later. So taking a deep breath he spoke.

"You should probably know that I uh... that I knew the victim."

This time it was Grissom who looked startled, so Nick decided he would elaborate a little, before the older man came to the conclusion that he once again managed to get himself into some mess. Not that the incident with Kristy was really his fault, Nick thought bitterly.

"I met her when one of my school buddies called me for lunch. He'd just moved into Vegas with his wife. She's the vic. I hadn't seen her since then."

"What about your friend?"

"I was there when Jim told him about his wife." Nick didn't mention the small incident that caused the couple of bruises on his back, but he knew it wasn't important. If Grissom was right, then this wasn't just about Jamie. And even if it would've been... Nick was sure he could handle Travis. "I want to work this case, Grissom. I can handle it."

The older CSI watched him for a moment, and then slowly nodded.

"If there's any trouble, any conflict of interest whatsoever, you let me know, Nick. Is that clear?"

"Yes Boss," he replied quickly and let out a relieved sigh when Grissom left. He stood before his desk for a good minute, just looking at the door and waiting for Grissom to come back and tell him he was off the case. But nothing happened and slowly Nick picked up the forgotten cell and dialled Brass. It was time to get back to work.

xxXXXxx

Three hours later the building was bustling with life and Nick was sitting in his car, cursing the broken AC. All the windows were down and even though it was only ten in the morning, the air was unbearable hot. He was tired and the heat made him slightly dizzy. He realised he hadn't had anything to eat since lunch, and that was almost a day ago. But getting home and taking that cold shower was just so much more enticing than waiting several more minutes at the take out. He could easily order a pizza after all.

So while the traffic made him curse the slow speed, his mind drifted to the past night and to Travis. They knew each other from high school and had spent quite a lot of time together either on the field playing football, or going out on double dates with girls. Nick knew from those times that Travis had a temper that easily flared. Several times he got them both into a brawl. But he also knew that Travis would never harm his wife, or any other woman. He just wasn't that type of a guy. And the dinner he spent with the couple when they moved to Vegas just assured him of that. Jamie was a smart and scarily independent woman, one that had Travis totally wrapped round her finger. With her, the man was harmless as a kitten. Nick wondered what would happen to Travis now. Where would all the anger go? He just hoped the man wouldn't find the killer before them.

Finally he made it home. Nick automatically locked the door and for a second stopped in the hallway, just listening. It was kind of a ritual he couldn't shake off ever since Nigel Crane invaded his home. Those first weeks after the house was repaired and the only reminder of the stalker's presence was the smell of fresh paint, he used to check out the whole house with the gun in his hand, ready to shoot. So pausing to listen for a moment seemed like a great improvement in Nick's mind. After he was satisfied that there was no foreign sound, he quickly stripped, throwing the clothes haphazardly across the floor, heading for the shower.

Half an hour later, Nick was sprawled on the couch, the box of half eaten pizza lying on the table. His breathing was slow and deep, a clear sign that he was asleep, despite the TV turned on. The rapping on the door melded with the shooting on the screen, but it quickly rose in intensity, penetrating through the dream like haze of Nick's mind. He blinked, mumbled something incoherent and turned, hoping that whoever it was would take the hint and leave him the hell alone. But the rapping continued and it brought to notice the headache that was creeping inside his skull. With a moan, Nick opened his eyes and rolled out of the couch, wincing at the stiff neck it'd given him. Definitely not the best place for sleeping.

"Coming!" he grumbled and rubbed at his eyes, while his hand paused on the lock.

"Who is it?"

"Travis."

His hand paused and Nick became alert.

"Come on Nick, I really need to talk to you." the voice was pleading and with a sigh and a farewell to any chance of sleep, Nick opened the door.

"Travis, what-" he didn't get a chance to reply, because the bulky man pushed around him.

"Man, I am really sorry, but I couldn't stay home. I-I just-" Travis started stuttering and one look at his miserable face made Nick feel like scum. He couldn't throw him out of the house, not like this.

"I really couldn't, Nick. I tried, but wherever I look, I see her, only... only now it is with that fucking carving on her face!" he shouted and started pacing Nick's hall.

"Hey, that's okay. Why don't you come into the living room? Did you eat something, man? I have some pizza left."

So when they were both sitting on the couch and staring unseeingly at the TV, Nick rubbing tiredly at his eyes while Travis muttered silent curses, sending whoever harmed his wife to hell, the CSI started thinking about what really made Travis come to him.

"Listen, Trav... you know I'm sorry for what happened to Jamie and I really don't mind you being here, but it's against the rules and they can pull me off the case. I shouldn't even talk with you without someone else present," he said, trying to keep back the yawn that threatened to split his jaw in two. God, but he was tired.

"B-but we aren't talking about anything, Nick," Travis looked startled, almost as if he thought that Nick would just walk him to the door. "I-I just... I can't be alone right now. That's all."

"What about your friends? Or Jamie's family. You told them what happened, right?"

"I called her parents. They're flying in from Texas, but... I don't have a very good relationship with them. Jamie didn't, either. That's one of the reasons we skipped town," he said with a hint of regret. Yeah, maybe if they'd stayed in Dallas, his wife would be still alive. Or not. She could've died in some car accident.

"And the only friend I have in Vegas is you, Nick."

The CSI had some trouble believing that. He clearly remembered Travis always having some friends around. But obviously none of them worked on his wife's case. With a sigh, Nick acknowledged the fact and pushed it away. If Travis wanted company, so be it. He could give him that one. It would be worse if he wanted the killer.

Right now, the man mostly needed a friend to talk to.

"Do you want some beer?" Nick asked and stood to get the beverage. He wouldn't drink, not with the nightshift starting in seven hours. But Travis didn't have to go to work today.

"Sounds cool," the guy on the couch replied, unenthusiastically flipping through the TV channels, pausing at the sports channel. When Nick returned with the beer and a soda for himself, Travis looked up at him, eyes rimmed with tears.

You know that Jamie hated football?" he said and his voice hitched.

"And she still married you? Man, she had to love you," Nick said with a slight smile and made himself comfortable on the couch.

"Yeah, that she did," Travis whispered and for a long moment that was the only thing spoken.


	3. Chapter 3

When Nick entered the office at the start of his next shift, he was all but rested. Despite his hope that Travis would just take the hint and let him have some rest, the man did quite the opposite. As Nick found out, the few beers he offered were hardly the first drink Travis had had. After thirty minutes of silence, the man started pouring his heart out and Nick was unable to stop him. So he just sat there, listened and tried to say all the right words. Travis finally fell into an alcohol-induced sleep and Nick decided he'd try to get some sleep too. But it felt as if he had just lay down when his alarm clock started ringing and with a groan, Nick crawled out of the bed.

He splashed some cold water on his face, put on some clean clothes and walked into the living room, half hoping that Travis would be gone. No such luck and Nick scrunched his face in disgust when he smelt the booze mixed with sweat hanging in the air. On the couch was Travis, looking dead to the world, only his snoring indicating that he wasn't one of Doc Robbins' patients.

Deciding against any attempt to wake the man, Nick quickly scribbled a note saying that he had to go to work and that Travis should just call a cab and shut the door on his way out. By the way Travis looked, he would be lucky if he came to himself before Nick returned from work.

With a sigh and a rather unpleasant headache building, Nick drove to the office. Once there, he headed straight to the DNA tech's lab, somehow dismayed to find Greg singing along with a heavy metal band. Nick cleared his throat but it didn't help, so he reached for the CD player and turned down the sound, effectively getting Greg's attention.

"Hey!" the lab tech protested before he turned and saw the visitor. Then he whistled.

"Wow, you look worse than me after three days of drinking," Greg smirked and Nick rolled his eyes.

"You mean one day of drinking, and two days of coma, right?" Nick snorted.

"Really man, you don't look so hot," Greg said and Nick had to smile at the concern.

"I just didn't get much sleep, that's all. So, do you have something for me?" he quickly steered the conversation to the case. Greg took the hint and grabbed some paper from the desk, already prepared for Nick.

"I ran the sample through CODIS, but there's no match, sorry. But I ran a DNA analysis and checked it out under the scope. You brought me several samples of head hair. They were from four different individuals. One of course was our victim. I already compared that sample to what Doc Robbins sent me. The other two samples had a male indicative Y body in the cells. I can also say with some probability that both of those men were Caucasian. One had a shorter, brown hair, the other is light, almost reddish."

"That would be Travis," Nick mumbled with a frown, getting a curious look from Greg.

"Go on, Greggo. What about the fourth sample?"

"Sorry, it was an incomplete hair sample. All I can tell you is that it was dark, probably Caucasian. There were no follicles, so no DNA to analyse."

Nick grimaced, not very happy. True, they could compare the DNA from the hair sample to a future suspect, if they found any. For now, Travis was as good a suspect as anyone else and Nick truly feared what would happen if Travis were to be taken in for interrogation, which would likely happen.

"Ah, but I didn't finish," Greg pulled him out of his thoughts and Nick looked at the lab tech with growing curiosity, seeing the grin on his face. "Bet you can't guess what the chemical analysis showed me." Greg winked and pulled out another paper, waving it before the CSI's eyes. With a hardly concealed impatience, Nick grabbed for the paper. Reading the results, he looked at Greg with surprise.

"Methamphetamine?"

"Yep, and I doubt it was the first dose either," Greg replied grinning.

"Which sample?" Nick asked suddenly, feeling the fear creeping back. Greg didn't notice though.

"The short brown male."

Nick let out a relieved sigh. He didn't think that Travis was capable of using drugs, but that didn't mean anything, especially not for the detective investigating the case. He would still be considered a suspect, at least until he provided them with an alibi.  
He was heading for Grissom's office, when he saw the man in question walk toward him, his gait easier and Nick wondered if Grissom's earlier grumpiness wasn't just caused by the boring cases they'd got the last few days. Maybe the boss needed something harder to set his teeth into and Nick pushed back a smile at the thought.

"Nick," the older man acknowledged his presence with a nod, pausing at the haggard look. Before he could open his mouth though, Nick preceded the question with a grumbled: "Don't ask. Long night or day, whatever."

Grissom's raised eyebrows was the only reaction he got as the man accepted his answer.

"I contacted a profiler from L.A. that worked as a consultant on the Cornwall case. She'll send us all her material about the case, along with her personal notes as soon as she puts them together. Jim should be here in a hour to discuss the case, so we better go to work and check out the rest of the evidence you collected from the scene."

"Uhm, I'm on it already. Did you see Greg?"

"I'm just heading his way," Grissom said with a sigh.

"Well, I'll save you the trip Here's what came out from the chemical analysis of one of the hairs I found in the car." Nick handed him the sheet and as Grisom read it, he relayed all the other details Greg had told him. Finally, Grissom nodded and resumed his walking, only this time in the direction of the break room.

"Good. Now go on and finish with the clothes of the victim. I'll page you when Brass arrives. Till then, I need to give out new assignments."

Nick raised an eyebrow at that.

"We got new cases?"

"Just Warrick and Sara. Catherine's still working on her robbery and 'we' need to focus on this one. It's important and if I'm right, there will be more than one victim," Grissom said and turned, not waiting for a reply.  
It was closer to two hours later when Nick heard the beeping of his pager. He had another hair sample from the band of Jamie's watch. She must've grabbed for her assailant when she was attacked, because there was also an epithelial on the hair, indicating it was forcibly removed. By the length and color, Nick thought it could belong to the suspect with traces of Methamphetamine, but he still needed to get it to Greg for confirmation. He also checked the footprints and came to the realization that there were definitely two people by the car, and neither of them was Jamie.

But there was absolutely no evidence indicating that Jamie was on the parking lot in the last few days. Of course, taking into consideration that the murder happened several days ago, it was quite possible that his assumptions were wrong, simply because there was plenty of time for the evidence to get lost. Not to mention that the parking lot wasn't a secret place, so with all probability, the footprints could've belonged to anyone who'd been in the car park during the last couple of days.

With a sigh, Nick put away the clothes and headed for Grissom's office, secretly hoping that Brass had come up with a name, a suspect that they could compare the samples to. But the office was empty and with a frown Nick tried the conference room. They usually used it only if the whole team needed to get together to discuss the evidence. That meant that either there would be more team members, or that Grissomhad already received the files and simply needed the bigger table. As he opened the door, Nick found out it was the latter reason. There were documents scattered across half of the table. Jim Brass was leaning against the table, sipping on his coffee, while Grissom sat behind him, frowning in concentration at a file. He didn't notice Nick's arrival, but when Brass shifted, Grissom also looked up.

"Hey Nick," Brass said with a slight smile. "Take a seat and join us."

"Hey Jim, thanks. Anything new about the case?"

The detective sighed and gulped down the last of the coffee before answering.

"I paid a little visit to the Las Vegas Centennial where she worked as a journalist. Had a talk with the chief editor and the secretary, who were supposedly the last to see Jamie Collins alive."

"Did she tell you anything?" Nick asked, pouring himself a cup of coffee, hoping it would stop him from yawning and pay better attention.

"Yeah. Mrs. Collins had a meeting with her source in a restaurant. The secretary heard her call in the reservation, but she didn't hear the name of the restaurant. Mrs. Collins left the office at noon. The camera from the parking lot caught her when she entered her car. She was alone and in good health. She wasn't supposed to return to work that day, but later that night, the secretary got a call from Travis Andrews, her husband. She said that he sounded nervous and was asking if Jamie had mentioned any name or place where she might have been going."

"Did the secretary mention any weird visitors or phone calls for Jamie?" Nick asked, not even noticing that he used the first name of the victim, which wasn't usual. He realized it quickly though when he caught Grissom's questioning look and shrugged.

"Nope, just the usual. And Mrs. Collins took most of her phone calls herself."

"What was her job specifically?" Grissom asked for the first time.

"Journalist. She had her own column called Legal Advice."

"So she could've easily made some pretty big enemies," Grissom commented.

"What do you mean?" Nick asked with a frown. "I thought you said this was the work of some cult or serial killer?"

"No, what I said was that I saw the symbol on the victims of a serial killer. But as he is dead and the details of those murders were all around the news, this would with all probability be just a copycat. Not necessarily a crazy man either." Grissom explained slowly.

"What does that symbol mean, anyway?" Nick asked, slightly flustered by the quiet reprimand in the other man's voice. He took a picture from the table and looked at the down turned triangle carved into Jamie's forehead.

"That's one of the details that made Cornwall's victims so specific. It is a symbol of one of the five elements."

"Five?" Nick blinked, confused. "I thought there were only four basic elements. Air, Fire, Earth and Water."

"Depends on who you ask, Nick. For example, you refer to the four classical elements defined by Greeks, which Hippocrates used in describing the human body. Aristotle added Aether as the fifth element, the quintessence. Also in Taoism you can find five elements, but instead of Air there is Metal and Wood, each of them associated with a planet. There's of course the fantasy seven element theory, which I find interesting, but I won't go there right now."

"Ookay," Nick dragged out, taken aback by all the information Grissom managed to give him in only a few seconds, not entirely grasping it. He found it almost funny how interested Grissom looked in the theme, but when he realized that maybe Cornwall's case was what initiated this interest, the urge to smile was gone. "So, what does this have to do with the whole mumbo jumbo Cornwall spouted thirty years ago?"

"Like I told you Nick, we never found out all the facts. You should read some of these notes, I think that Mrs Poller who profiled Cornwall did a good job."

Throwing a dubious look at all the files, Nick looked at Grissom wearily.

"Can you give me the short version now? I'll read this later."

With a sigh, Grissom stood and walked to the white board, grabbing a black marker. He quickly drew a pentagram.

"The pentagram represents a human body. It was often used as a symbol of protection in several religions. In Christianity it represented the five wounds of Jesus. The five vertices of the pentagram also represented the five elements for some, while others exchanged Aether for another element. I don't know in which context it was used by Cornwall, only the way he applied it in the killings. If you'll look at the closer shot from the scene where Cornwall and his followers were found, you'll see that in each corner of the pentagram is a drawing of a symbol – one of the five elements." Just to point out his words, Grissom drew the symbols on the board, pointing at each of them.

"This one you saw on the forehead of Jamie Collins. The symbol of water was also the first to appear thirty years ago. Then came Earth, Fire, Air and Aether as the final one." Grissom put down the marker and turned, surprised to see Brass talking on his cell. With a frown he realized that his hearing was gone, once again. Grissom blinked, then tried to focus on Jim's mouth. He knew that something was wrong, by the way the detective's face turned into a grimace. He saw the frown on Nick's face, as the younger CSI paid attention to whatever was said. Finally, Brass ended the call and turned to the criminalists. Grissom saw his lips move and scrunched his eyebrows in the effort to actually read what he was saying.

"What?" he asked, frustrated when he didn't catch the words.

"I said that we got another body. Are you okay, Gil?"

"Uhm, yes," Grissom said, feeling the mixed emotions. Relief that he heard the last comment, but also apprehension from what it meant. He was right. There was another murder. And if they didn't find something soon, there would be more.

xxxxxxxxxx

It had been only a few days ago that Grissom had learned that his hearing loss was worsening, much faster than he had expected. Only a few days since the doctor had told him he should consider surgery. And he did; consider it that is.

Grissom wasn't afraid to go under the scalpel; well, no more than any normal person was. He was afraid of other things. Like the fact that someone would find out. Or that the surgery wouldn't help. In that case, he would soon lose his hearing altogether, and who would want a deaf criminalist doing field work?

Of course, even without his hearing, they would let him stay as a criminalist - but he would've been reduced to staying in the lab, no field work. And if Grissom was good at something, it was field work…and bugs, he thought with an inner smirk. No, he definitely didn't want anyone to find out.

So he'd spent the last few days in his office, brooding over 'when' to take the surgery. In case it should go wrong, he wanted to push the date as far away as he could, trying to enjoy his time in the field and help with as many cases as he could in his current condition. But then, wouldn't he be risking his own team? There was a chance that his hearing could go out in the worst moment. He wouldn't catch the word that could point him to the suspect. Or worse... someone could shout for help and he wouldn't hear it.

But even these 'worst case scenarios' couldn't push him to come out with the truth. Not now, not when they had a possible serial killer on the run. So while he was driving behind the police car leading them to the new crime scene, Grissom told himself that the surgery could wait: At least until there weren't any 'serious' cases to solve. Knowing their luck, that could keep him from the surgical table for a pretty long time.

xxXXxx

This one wasn't at all what Nick anticipated when Brass told him they found another body. When he put down the phone and Nick asked how could he be so sure it was the same case, Brass simply pointed at his forehead.

"Another sign."

That was all it took for them to grab their kits and get into the car, with Grissom behind the wheel. Brass took the lead, and Nick only then realized he hadn't told them about the location. He thought that they would head towards Lake Mead once again, but quickly realized that was wrong as the car before them took a turn to the right; quite the opposite direction.

Nick cast a glance at the man behind the wheel, ready to ask what he thought about it, but stayed silent. He saw the frown and concentrated look and knew Grissom's mind was somewhere else. Still, he was curious about where they were going.

"Uhm, Gris?" he spoke and was surprised when Grissom instantly looked at him. Maybe he wasn't all that occupied, Nick thought, distraught.

"Yes?"

"We didn't really get to talk about Cornwall's MO. You said that water was the first sign that appeared, but... was there anything else similar to Jamie's case?"

"Cornwall's first victim was also a woman, but she was ten years younger than Mrs. Collins and wasn't married, still a student. There was no known connection between Cornwall's victims, not in genre, age or occupation, not even the same location. That's a little strange, if you think about it and makes me more convinced about the copycat theory. Cornwall never killed twice in the same town. He even crossed the border. And the time between the killings was longer. This one is acting too fast."

"Did all of the victims drown?"

"Hm? No, they didn't. Cornwall killed each one in a different way. You could say that each victim was killed in a way that symbolized his or her element. They couldn't find the third victim for some time, simply because the fire burned the skin and there was no visible carving. Only when the coroner noticed some scratches on the skull bone did the realize what happened."

Nick listened intently, his brow furrowed. He couldn't shake the feeling that there had to be something connecting the victims – both in the past and the present. Only rarely did a serial killer choose his victims without pattern.

Before Nick could voice his thoughts, Brass pulled into a closed off area of a construction site and Grissom followed him in.

They were almost out of the city limits, the Downtown and the Strip far behind. This was more of an industrial area, with factories and warehouses, the desert shining in the moonlight in distance.

"What are they planning to build here?" Nick wondered.

"Administrative building, at least that's what they say," Jim Brass answered the question and nodded at the nearest cop, who was already approaching them.

"Detective Brass," the man said and acknowledged the presence of the two criminalists with a nod.

"Officer Rossy, what have you got here?"

"A male D.B. Found on the excavation site. We were called in by the security guard who patrolled the area."

"Where is he?"

"Over there," Rossy pointed toward the site office. "He's an older guy and it shook him up pretty good," the cop warned.

"Can you tell us anything else? Was someone on the scene when you arrived?"

"Just him. We checked out the area, it was clear. But you should probably know that there's quite a big hole in the wire fence."

"I want few guys there, asap," Brass growled, already prepared to chew out the officer before him, but Rossy only smirked.

"Already done, Sir. Two officers are guarding the fence, one is by the body and another with the guard."

"Good," Jim said, satisfied. "Lead the way then, I want to see the body first."

"Right there," Rossy spoke and pointed down into a dark hole, a small portable lamp the only thing illuminatingthe body and the cop standing nearby. "The security guy said that they just finished excavating the foundation yesterday."

"How deep is that?" Nick mumbled, looking down. "Three yards?"

"Was the ladder already there or did you bring it?" Grissom asked, already pulling on his gloves.

"I'll have to ask the security guard," Rossy replied with a frown.

"Do it. And bring another ladder here. We'll take this one with us."

"You looking for prints?" Brass asked, while the officer jogged towards the office.

"Yeah. There's a chance the killer or even the victim had to use it. Or not. The victim could've been just shoved off the edge. The coroner will tell us more." As they waited for Rossy to return with another ladder, both Nick and Grissom turned on their own flashlights and started looking around for any evidence.

Five minutes later they were crouching next to the body of a man. Nick looked at the symbol carved into the flesh, a down turned triangle crossed with a simple line. His eyes slid down to the man's mouth, full of soil and dirt, then to the single stab wound in the chest, and finally back to the carving.

With a sigh, Nick shook his head and turned to Grissom.

"I think I can guess what this symbol means even without knowing anything about the history behind the five elements theory."

Grissom's lip quirked in an unhappy smile.

"Earth," he spoke in a whisper. "At least the killer got the sequence right." With that said, the criminalists opened their evidence kits and started working.

xxXXxx

Jonah was on a high. Even though the drugs should've already left his system, he still felt pumped, almost giddy. His endorphin and dopamine levels were up, and the adrenaline from the kill still coursed through his body. His mind felt sharper than ever. It was always like that after he took a dose of crystal meth, but somehow the rush of the kill enhanced his experience, prolonging it. He swore that right now, he would be able to write a paper for his history class, if he hadn't been expelled fromschool. It was really bad that they threwhim out for the use of drugs. Didn't they understand that it was the only way he could concentrate? So while he had started with the drugs just to get through high school, they had literally 'fired' him for taking them. Now drugs were the only thing left. And his Master, of course.

The man had taken him from the street, stopped him before Jonah could do something really stupid – like get a gun and try to rob a 24/7 to get some cash. He was actually on his way to the guy who sold them when the Master stopped him. Without many words, he offered him shelter, and something that Jonah desperately needed – another dose of the drug. Jonah took it, his body's will stronger than his mind. He knew well enough that doing it meant trouble. But at the time, he didn't care. Only later, when he found himself holed up in this little apartment. He woke up to find the man watching him, and having only a hazy recollection of the previous day, he startled, scrambling off the couch.

Every street kid knew that nothing comes for free and Jonah was afraid what this man would want in repayment. Or what he had already got.

But he quickly realized that the man wasn't just another vulture searching for prey – not in the way Jonah thought. The Master wasn't interested in his body – only in his soul.

Days went by and Jonah was kept in the apartment, the man with him all the time, talking. When Jonah felt like his brain just wanted to stop working, when his mind was too slow to process even the slightest command, the man gave him a dose. And when Jonah's mind became sharp and he could concentrate, the man talked some more.

By the time Jonah got the third dose, he'd started calling him Master. And when the drugs run out of his body, and he wearily sank into the bed, he already knew about the Plan.

That was three weeks ago.

Right now, Jonah could only pace the small confinement of his apartment, his mind reeling around the events of the last few hours. He'd done it again – he'd killed another human being. The victim put up a good fight, but he hadn't had a chance. Not against Jonah, who was on the top of the world, or against his Master, who incapacitated the victim with such ease that it made Jonah wonder just how many had he killed? But it didn't matter, not when Jonah crammed the dirt and soil down the feebly struggling victim's throat. Not when he plunged the knife into his heart, or was allowed to carve the sign into the forehead. All that mattered was that the Master was happy and Jonah felt the power. For that sole minute, when he had power over another human's life, he was "Someone". And he never wanted to lose that feeling.

xxXXxx

The body was already on its way to Doc Robbin's autopsy table when Grissom and Nick finished with the scene. They quickly came to the conclusion that this wasn't the place of the kill, only a secondary scene. There was almost no blood, even if the victim was covered in it. They also had a suspicion that the body was simply dumped. It would surely be easier than dragging it down the ladder.

The security guard's statement only confirmed that, when the old guy told Brass that it was the sound of something falling that lured him out. But by the time he walked to the hole where they would lay the foundations soon, there was no one around. Only the body.

Nick had a feeling that the security guard didn't go out right away. That maybe he heard some sounds and instead of going to check it out, waited till there was only silence. And really, who would blame him? He was alone and only few weeks from retirement. No need to get himself killed, there was nothing to steal, anyway.

So after they took his statement, shipped the body to the coroner and finished collecting the evidence from the scene, it was time to return to the lab and take a closer look.

The two criminalists walked to the car, got in and drove away. They didn't notice the other car that pulled out just behind them, following. They didn't know it had been there all the time, following them from the lab and waiting.

And he would wait even longer, the man behind the wheel realized when he saw the criminalists were heading back to the office. But it didn't matter.

He had time.


	4. Chapter 4

A few hours after the body was recovered from the scene, the two criminalists and the detective assembled in the conference room. The sun was already up in the sky and most of the day shift had already arrived for their shift, but it didn't matter to the three men in the room. They were here because the killer had struck last night and they knew he would strike again if not stopped. Time was of great importance.

"We still don't know the identity of the victim. I looked through the missing person reports, but he doesn't match any of the descriptions," Jim said with a sigh

"David estimated the time of death as only a hour or two before he arrived at the scene," Nick commented, putting the bagel he took from the fridge back on the plate, only half eaten. "That's too soon for anyone to report a missing husband. But I think there will be some wife calling the station later today."

Nobody asked why Nick assumed the man was married. They'd all seen the ring on his finger. They also knew he wasn't a homeless guy, because of his expensive clothing and personal grooming. The coroner's assistant also told them the man was in perfect health, prior to his death of course. Pity there wasn't any wallet or ID on him, not even a set of keys. If the MO was similar to the last victim…Nick inwardly cringed at that thought…then there was a high probability that the man was snatched from his car. Brass had already sent a pair of officers to check out the parking lots in close proximity to the crime scene, but so far they hadn't come up with anything.

"Also we can say that we're definitely dealing with two killers," Nick added, showing Brass the photos taken from the scene. There were two different footprints leading from the wire fence, where they vanished as the terrain changed. Two footprints…deeper than usual. That meant that they were carrying something heavy, most likely the dead man.

"What about the ladder? Have you found any prints?"

"Several, but I think they're all from the men working on the site. I ran them through AFIS, but nothing came up. I was luckier with the prints from the boots," Nick said with a grin and Brass frowned, while Grissom simply raised his eyebrows, waiting.

"What boots?" The detective asked confused.

"The leather cowboy boots the dead guy wore. It's almost impossible to take prints from clothes, but from leather it's quite easy. I thought that if they had to carry him, one of them had to grab his legs, maybe the boots. And I was right," Nick said with a smirk and gave both men a printed list from the computer.

"AFIS came up with a name - Jonah Webster, age nineteen. I can't get into his juvie records because they're sealed. But we have a name."

"Now we only need to get an address," Jim said with a praising nod. "Good thinking, Nick."

The CSI gave a silent nod in reply and looked at Grissom, while Brass pulled out his cell phone and called central to have them pull Jonah Webster's address and anything else known about the youth.

Grissom for his part stayed silent, his eyes half closed, as if he was trying to listen. Nick wondered what was troubling the older man, besides the case of course. As if feeling that he was being watched, Grissom's eyes snapped open and he cleared his throat, looking at the notes on the desk with something close to nervousness.

"So you're convinced that this is a copy cat," Nick stated, trying to start a conversation. Grissom looked up and shrugged.

"I can't be sure, but yeah, I think so. There's something else though..." Grissom fell silent and pursed his lips, thinking. After a moment, he shook his head.

"The timing is wrong," he said suddenly and Nick frowned.

"The killings are too close together," Grissom continued. His statement captured Jim's attention as he finished the call and closed his cell.

"How much closer?" Nick asked. He still hadn't had the time to look at the older files.

"Cornwall killed one victim every three weeks. Three weeks, Nick. Not a day sooner. And every victim was from a different city. Your friend's wife was killed a week ago. It looks... too rushed. I think we should look deeper into the victim's backgrounds. Maybe there is something they had in common."

"Yeah, well, that's not so easy," Brass grumbled from the other side of the room, his eyes set on Nick, almost accusingly. "I've been trying to get hold of your friend Travis for a whole day, Nick. His neighbour told me he hasn't seen him for almost two days. He doesn't answer his phone at home or his cell and he wasn't at work. If I can't get hold of him by noon, I'll have to put out an APB."

"What? Why! Travis isn't a suspect, Jim, he never was."

"What about the hair sample you found in the first victims car?"

"You're kidding, right?" Nick asked, his voice high and unbelieving. "Travis drove that car almost as often as Jamie did. "

"Then where is he now, Nicky?" Jim asked in a low voice and Nick closed his mouth, realising that Brass probably knew all along where Travis was. But if the curious "Nick?" coming from Grissom was anything to go by, his supervisor didn't.

"Maybe he just felt like crashing on one of his friends couch. He could be in a bar, for all I know. Just give him some time, he'll call. He'll want to know what's going on."

Brass gave Nick one of his glares, practically ordering 'you better make sure of that', when the ringing of his cell broke the silence. Nick gave a barely perceptible nod to the detective, before turning to look at Grissom. The older criminalist watched him with arched eyebrows, as if waiting for some explanation. Nick shrugged and looked away, his hands idly playing with the pen and the files, just so he didn't have to look at Grissom.

"I've got an address," Brass said when he finished the call and looked expectantly at the two criminalists. "The kid's still living with his parents. Do you want to join me?" he asked with a grin as Nick was already grabbing for his cap and Grissom stood with a curt nod.  
The drug was out of his system and he felt the crash. It was getting hard to think and the walls were closing in on him. The Master left him in the apartment, needing to settle some business and Jonah paced the small room like a caged tiger. The TV didn't attract him, at this time of the day it was mostly full of soap operas and talk shows, nothing worth watching. His attention span was too short to be able just sit around. He needed to take a walk. He needed to move. He needed to feel alive, feel his brain working again. Simply said, he needed another fix.

Instantly, he stopped his pacing and froze in place. His Master had told him to stay here, not leave the apartment. But he'd also told him that he wouldn't be back before dark, and it was only morning now.

What was he risking, really? The master never came sooner than he said. And if Jonah could get the dose quickly, he wouldn't even notice he'd taken something. Now all he needed to do was find a place where he could get some meth. With a grin, Jonah reached for his wallet and the keys for his car. He knew just the right place.  
They were in the middle of the parking lot when Nick realised he'd left his cell in the conference room. He slapped his head and looked at Grissom and Brass with an apologetic grimace.

"Sorry guys, it will take only a minute," he said and before either of them could say anything, he was gone. Brass turned to Grissom with an exasperated sigh, but the scientist replied with a simple shrug, as if saying 'what can I do?'

Nick took the stairs two at the time and when he finally found his cell under all the files, he had to take few deep breaths. He rushed back to the elevator and while he waited, he took a quick glance at his phone. No missed calls. Then he remembered his earlier conversation with Brass and decided to find out where Travis was…hopefully not in his apartment anymore.

Surprisingly, even though Brass said that he tried Travis' cell, Nick got through after the second ring.

"Yeah, Nick?" the voice of his buddy asked eagerly and Nick realised he must've seen the caller's ID. So why didn't he pick it up when the detective called?

"Hey, Travis. How are you doing?"

"Okay, I guess. Oh, thanks for letting me crash at your couch, man. I really appreciate it."

"No problem, just... don't mention it. I really shouldn't even talk with you, you know."

Travis laughed bitterly, just as the elevator door opened and Nick stepped in with a frown.

"There we go again," Travis said with a snort. "Come on Nicky, we aren't talking about anything. But if it makes you feel better, I won't mention it. Not that there's anyone interested in what I'm doing right now."

Something in that comment made Nick shiver, even though it was hot and sweaty in the small cabin. Maybe it was the tone in which it was said, or the fact that it wasn't true. Whatever the reason, Nick didn't like it.

"You may be wrong about that, Trav. Look, the detective that is investigating the case would really like to talk with you. He needs to learn more about Jamie and you're the only one who can help him. Will you come and talk with him?"

There was a moment of silence, then a weary sigh.

"Yeah, why not. I'll stop by later today."

"Great," Nick said in a relieved voice and heard Travis chuckle.

"Man, you sound as if I just pulled a thorn from your foot."

"You have no idea," Nick replied in the same tone and by the time the elevator stopped at the underground garages, he'd finished the call. He ran up to Jim's car and leaned in the open window.

"Just to let you know I got a hold of Travis on his cell. Told me he will stop by later today, so you can call off your hound dogs."

"Just as long as he comes," Brass replied with a smirk and nodded at Nick to get in the car.  
Jonah hated his room in the big, five-storey apartment building in the downtown area. It wasn't the best neighbourhood to live in and the building looked rusty and old, the elevator wasn't working and the walls were full of graffiti and love messages. What Jonah hated the most was the drunk step-father and uncaring mother that were hidden inside.

He hadn't spent more than a few weeks from the last two years in this apartment, and that was mostly without his parents' knowledge. The door to Jonah's room was permanently closed, the key probably lost the moment he left for the first time. But Jonah didn't mind. He never came through the door anyway.

There was a fire escape just below his window and Jonah had long ago mastered the art of silent entrance. Today it wasn't any different.

The room was dusty when he crawled through the window and he had to stifle a sneeze. He could hear the television playing in the living room and the loud snoring of his stepfather, as well as noises coming from the kitchen. Probably his mother making some lunch. Jonah shrugged, not really caring what they were doing, as long as his secret stash was safe. One look around the room told him that no one had entered it since the last time he was there and he knelt down next to his bed in relief. Pulling at one of the loose boards in the floor, he revealed the hidden box. There, between a stack of rolled up one dollar bills, a few old superman comics and a pack of cigarettes, lay three small packages of crystal meth. His emergency stash, Jonah thought with a smirk. He'd just reached for one of the packages, when a loud rapping startled him.

He froze and waited, watching the door, half afraid it would open, half pissed that someone had heard him come. But then he realised the knocking was on the front door, and he heard his mother's raspy voice mumbling curses, as she shuffled slowly to the door.

"Open up, this is the police!" Jonah heard and his heart skipped a beat.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," his mother shouted and Jonah blinked. With a jerky movement he grabbed all three packages along with the stack of dollars and practically jumped toward the window. He wasn't trying to be silent this time. He knew that the television would most probably muffle any sounds he made from the outside. He just needed to get away, quickly. Scrambling through the window and onto the fire escape, he ran down the stairs, stopping only at the bottom, where the stairs ended three yards above the ground. He didn't waste time and simply jumped, cringing when he felt the bad landing. Still, the threat of the cops helped him push back the pain from a bruised ankle and he took off running toward his car.

Flinging the door open, he threw himself behind the steering wheel, his shaking fingers stabbing the key into the ignition. The car started with a roar, and he quickly dropped it into gear and took off. His breathing didn't ease until he'd made it past the first block, seeing the police car still parked in front of the building, waiting.

Once he was out of sight, he started laughing. The adrenaline was back, the endorphins once again coursing through his body. He didn't even feel the need to take the dose anymore. This just rocked.

Jonah threw a last look into the side mirror and shook his head, chuckling. No cops. He saw only a black Landrover, keeping it's distance and he didn't pay any attention to it. He'd already forgotten about seeing it when he parked before the apartment the Master rented for him. He didn't notice the black Landrover parked on the other side of the street, waiting.

xxxxxxxxx

They were too late. Nick could tell by the open window in Jonah's room and the loose board thrown aside, revealing the hidden box.

"You're sure you didn't come into the room?" Brass asked the surprised looking mother.

"No, not for some time. You saw that I had to unlock the door... this room isn't used anymore."

"What about the open window?" Nick asked, half leaning out of it, trying to see if someone might've been hiding on the fire escape. No one was there, but he spotted some cars pulling out from the side street and frowned. That black Landrover looked familiar, but he couldn't remember where he'd seen it before.

"I know for sure it was closed," the mother said, nervously rubbing at her left palm.

"What are all those questions for?" boomed the voice of Jack Webster who'd been startled awake by the appearance of the police in his living room, and hadn't found his voice until now.

"We are looking for your son, Mr. Webster," Jim Brass spoke with the authority he knew was needed to be able to talk with the man.

Jack Webster only snorted and shook his head in disgust.

"Well, he isn't here, so you can take your…" A warning glare from Brass made him pause in mid sentence. With a grimace, Jack Webster nodded his head towards the front door, "Just leave now."

"I am sorry, but that isn't possible," Jim said in a sweat voice which clearly stated that he wasn't sorry at all. "We have a warrant from the judge to search Jonah's room." Jack Webster eyed the paper then handed it back to Brass with a uncaring shrug.

"Whatever. Just don't make a big mess. And don't touch anything outside the brat's room." With that the man resumed his position on the couch, turned the volume on the TV up and ignored the presence of the cops altogether. Mrs. Webster though wasn't so easy to deter and for some reason, she choose Grissom as the most probable source of information, which made Nick smirk and the older criminalist cringe.

"Why are you looking for Jonah? Did something happen to him? Please, tell me what did he do-" Grissom who felt his head would explode even without the added noise, raised his hand to silence the questions. With a weary sigh, he rubbed at his temple and looked at the woman. He saw the fear in her eyes, fear for her son's wellbeing, but maybe there was also the fear of what the boy could've caused.

"I'm sorry, I can't tell you any details of the case, just that your son is probably involved in two murder cases."

'Real smooth, Grissom,' Nick thought and shook his head at his boss' reply, when the mother yelped, eyes wide and unbelieving.

"No, you must be mistaken! My boy would never hurt anyone. You're wrong," she declared in a high-pitched voice that even drew the attention of Mr. Webster. Grissom winced, once again reaching for his head as the oncoming migraine let him know of its presence and Nick felt a sudden surge of sympathy towards his boss.

"Mrs. Webster, we are not sure if Jonah is the killer, but we are sure there's someone else with him who might be. It would be best if you could help us find your son. He could be in danger too," Nick explained, his voice low and understanding. The woman held his eyes for a moment, then slowly nodded, the anger about her son's possible involvement with murder replaced by fear for his safety.

"How can I help you?" she asked and Grissom's eyebrows twitched in surprise, while Brass simply gave Nick his nod of approval.

"Why don't we go to the kitchen, so I can ask you a few questions about Jonah, while my colleagues look at his room?"

Mrs. Webster looked shyly at her husband, who was already back to watching the TV and pointedly ignored everyone around. So she just shrugged and led the way to the kitchen, while Nick nodded at Grissom. He could start processing the room without any unneeded attention.  
"What do you want to know about Jonah?" Mrs. Webster asked, once they were sitting in the kitchen. She had her back turned to Nick, trying to save the lunch she was making before they knocked on the door. Nick smelled some broth and roasted chicken Well, it might've been a little burned by now, his nose told him, but Mrs Webster obviously didn't think so as she still left it in the oven to finish.

"Do you know where Jonah lives?" Nick finally asked, trying not to grimace at the sour tasting coffee the woman served him.

"No, I don't." Mrs. Webster said with a uneasy shrug. "I... maybe I am not the best mother, but I took good care of him when he was small. I wanted him to study, so he could earn a scholarship to a better school, get a good job and get out of this neighbourhood." Her voice trembled a little and when she started slicing the onions forthe salad Nick had a feeling it was only so she could hide her puffy eyes.

"What happened?" he asked gently.

"I don't know," Mrs Webster stopped slicing for a moment, knife poised in mid air, shrugging. "When he was fourteen, his grades were lower for almost the whole year, but then Jack and I had a serious talk with him about his studies. The next week he brought home an A for Maths and History. In a month he became the top student in his class and I was really happy. But then he started acting weird. He was moody. Sometimes he was bouncing off the walls, just to get suddenly too tired to move a finger. I thought it was puberty, but..." she sniffed and Nick had to rub at his eyes too, because the onions were strong and he had to blink away the tears.

"He turned to drugs," Nick added when Mrs Webster stayed silent. "And the school found out, right?"

"They let him finish the year, then he had to leave. They put my son into a drug rehab centre, but... he ran away."

"Did he ever contact you after that?"

"Oh, yes. Sometimes he came home for a sleepover, some food... or to ask for money."

"You hadn't tried to take him back to rehab?" Nick wondered and this time the mother looked at him, her eyes angry.

"Of course I tried! But he always took off and I wouldn't call the cops on my own son."

"But you must to know that he has a juvenile record."

The woman snorted.

"For stealing a car, and other minor offenses. He hadn't done anything stupid for almost a year now."

"From the time he turned eighteen, you mean," Nick added and the woman nodded, giving a half-hearted sigh.

"My son isn't a bad person, Mr. Stokes." The woman turned to him, the knife held limply in her hand. "He just lost his way."  
He was back in the conference room once again, even though he should've been at home, getting some much-needed sleep. But they all felt that they were getting closer and that the killer may get more nervous. So they spread out all the evidence, listed it on the white board and allowed themselves a few minutes of silence, before Nick started relaying his conversation with Mrs Webster. Detective Brass and Grissom were both listening, each fighting their own tiredness, Jim with another cup of strong coffee, while Grissom tried not to think about his building migraine and how an aspirin wasn't nearly as good at combating it as his meds. But then there wouldn't be much keeping him awake and he didn't needthat right now.

"What about his friends, Nicky? Did you ask her?" Brass asked with a frown.

"She didn't know about anyone. I still think the other guy would be older than Jonah," Nick mused.

"He's a professional," Grissom said suddenly and both men looked at him in surprise.

"Who, Jonah?"

"No, the other one. Did you notice that every piece of the evidence is leading to Jonah, but there is nothing about the other man? Only a few footprints that tell us nothing. No prints, no DNA. He had gloves and a good knowledge of police work."

"You think he's killed before?"

"Yes, and I think he will again. If he didn't intend to kill again, he would get rid of Jonah," Grissom stated calmly, which brought him two doubtful looks.

"Care to tell us why you think so?" Brass asked after a second, seeing that Grissom wasn't about to elaborate on the subject without a push.

"Just think about it, Jim. We've got one professional who doesn't leave any evidence, but drags a kid with a record along, and doesn't even make sure he wears gloves."

"Maybe he didn't know Jonah had a juvie record," Nick pointed out and Grissom shrugged.

"It's not important, Nicky. If he wanted to work with him for a longer time , he would make sure there's absolutely nothing left on the scene that would point to Jonah, because if we catch Jonah, we will have the other one too. He plans to get rid of him, most probably kill him so it would look like a suicide, with a pretty confession written up just for us... and for the news. The case will be closed and he could just walk away."

"But this doesn't make much sense if the other guy is a fanatic too," Nick objected.

"I told you this is a copy-cat work, Nicky. And right now I think it's all just a fool play, to lead us off the trail. We should concentrate on the victims. There has to be something that's connecting them."

"Which makes me wonder, do you know who the second victim is?" Grissom turned at Brass.

"Sorry, no. I'm still waiting for a positive identification, but if I have to say, we won't get it until twenty-four hours have passed. So probably tomorrow morning."

"What if no one reports him missing?" Nick asked wearily.

"Then we will use the Media, though I would really like to evade them. Once we set them off, it would be impossible to get rid of them and the last thing we need is another serial killer panic brought on by news."

Nick had to agree with that statement.  
He didn't know what to do. He was on the verge of an adrenaline rush, but he knew it would wear off before the Master came back. That wasn't what troubled him though. The presence of the police at his parent's house did. How did they know it was him? And more importantly – did they come to arrest him?

Once he returned to his apartment, he couldn't stop but ask the same question again and again. Should he tell his Master?

The man asked him, before this all started, if he had any records with the police, if someone had his fingerprints or DNA. He'd said no. And he'd lied.

Jonah knew his fingerprints were recorded when they brought him in for stealing that damn car, but he also knew that it was all in his juvie records, which should've been closed some six months ago, when he turned eighteen. But obviously, the records weren't as sealed as Jonah hoped for and the cops had found his prints on one of the bodies.

He growled in frustration and hit the wall with his open palm. If they knew who he was it was just a matter of time till they put his photo into the news and started to look for him. Once that happened, the Master wouldlearn about his lie and punish him. Jonah didn't even want to think about what kind of punishment the Master would give him. He'd seen what the man was capable of and suddenly his stomach churned as the fear hit him. Would the Master send him away? Or would he decide his lie was deserving of a more serious punishment?

Jonah swallowed and shook his head, trying to steer off the panic. No, his Master was good. He'd pulled him from the street, stopped him from doing something foolish. He wouldn't hurt him. The police didn't know where he was now; there was no way they could know. Slowly, Jonah started to relax. He must think positively. Maybe the police hadn't come after him. Hell, he hadn't been home for three years, if he didn't count the few nights he'd spent in his room sleeping, mostly when he hadn'tfound any place to crash for the night and it was too cold to stay outside. Maybe something happened in the neighbourhood, some burglary and the cops came to investigate, look for any witnesses. Yes, that was it. Jonah sighed in relief and sagged into the couch, suddenly feeling spent. His hand slid into his pants pocket and pulled out one of the small packages of crystal meth. Jonah's face lit up in a smile. He'd escaped the police and he'd got what he went looking for. It was a good day, and a reason for a good trip.  
The ringing of the cell phone was making him nervous. He knew who was on the other end and he contemplated whether to pick up and talk to him several times, but then he realised where the conversation would lead. So he turned off the cell and stayed still, waiting and watching. He knew the boy was somehow connected with the murder, why otherwise would he run away when the CSI's entered the building?

He'd been following the criminalists the whole day and even though he didn't know what they talked about or who were they looking for, once he spotted the young man jumping off the fire escape and almost running toward the car, he knew he had to follow him. So he did. The kid stopped paying attention the second he realised the cops weren't behind him so he hadn't had to be extra careful. Once they both parked before a three-storey apartment building, he'd pulled out his binoculars and watched, thankful that he had bought a car with darkened glass.

Once or twice in the last two hours he saw the young man looking out of the window, as if waiting at someone. That was the only reason he wasn't already up at his door and beating the crap out of the kid. He just knew there must be someone else involved.

His waiting paid off when another car pulled up before the apartment building and a well-built man in his mid forties got out. The man warily looked around him, scanning his surroundings, then risked a look at the window the other one had been looking out from before.

The man in the black Landrover allowed himself a small grin, before he turned on his cell phone and dialled the number.

After two rings, a weary voice answered.

"Stokes," the criminalist grumbled, as if he was just pulled out of sleep.

"Nick, it's me, Travis. I think you should come."


	5. Chapter 5

The blinds on the windows threw the break room into semi-darkness, even if outside was a hot and sunny day. Several people walked in, only to see the hunched form sleeping on the couch. Some of them grabbed something from the fridge and took a moment to enjoy the quietness of the room while the halls were buzzing with people. Others simply closed the door and left the sleeping form alone. Nick never stirred.

He'd been working in the conference room, losing the fight with sleepHe'd been trying to cover his yawning more and more, without success as the two other men threw him annoyed looks but stayed silent, knowing that they were getting closer to the killer and that every minute could count. They desperately wanted to stop Jonah before another person died. So they worked, waiting for the results of several tests, while trying to discern where Jonah could've been hiding and just who was the other man, the professional behind the murders.

They'd just finished lunch in the conference room when Ecklie simply kicked them out, stating that he had a meeting to attend and that they were taking his place. Grissom just then realised how much time had run by and with a sigh the three men gathered their files and evidence. But none of them thought of going home. Grissom closed himself off in his own office while Brass left for the station, trying to dig up some information and maybe convince the judge to let them see Jonah's juvenile records.

Once the two men went their respective ways, Nick changed his path towards the elevators and instead headed to the break room. He was too tired to drive himself home and one look at his watch told him it would be futile, anyhow. He had four hours to the start of his shift and he would probably spend two of them in traffic just on the way home and then back to work. He could get two hours sleep just as well on the couch in the break room than on his own. Knowing how ridden was the day shift by Ecklie, he sincerely doubted they would use the room.

He got exactly two hours and ten minutes of sleep, when the ringing of his cell phone startled him from a rather pleasant dream. He growled and grabbed for the offending phone that was still shrilling oppressively.

"Stokes" he barked, once he managed to open the thing.

"Nick, it's me, Travis. I think you should come."

The tone in which it was said made Nick frown, and he rubbed at his eyes, trying to drive away the last vestiges of sleep.

"What's going on, Trav?" he asked a little more lucidly.

"I found him."

"Found who?" Nick asked, feeling something roll in his stomach. He didn't like the tone of Travis' voice. It was distant and cold.

"The killer. You better come."

xxxxxx

Nick scrambled off the couch, almost falling when his leg got caught in the corner. With a curse he get off the thing and quickly straightened his clothes, the thought of sleep long gone. He managed to get an address from Travis, but nothing else when the man simply hung up on him. Nick didn't have a clue how the man could've found the killer when the police hadn't managed itbut he wasn't about to sit there and ask idle questions. It might be the real killer, and in that case Travis was in danger. If it wasn't, well then Travis could get into some pretty big trouble. By the tone of his voice Nick assumed that his friend wasn't planning on just sitting around and waiting for the cops to arrest the criminal. He wanted revenge first.

So Nick headed for the locker room and took out his gun. He rarely wore it if he was in the lab, so for most of the time, the gun rested in the locker. He checked it was loaded and put on a holster. He didn't really like to wear it when it was so hot outside, because he couldn't put on his jacket and nothing hid the gun from prying eyes.

When he was ready to leave, the car keys already dangling from his fingers, he heard a slight cough as if someone was clearing his throat. Startled, he turned and clenched his jaw to muffle the curse.

"Grissom," he acknowledged the older man and stood, waiting. There was no way Grissom would overlook his attire.

"I thought you went home."

"Yeah well, I grabbed some shut eye on the couch. Saw no sense in going home." Nick said a little annoyed and looked at his watch nervously.

"Going somewhere?" Grissom asked, moving his head in question.

Nick took in the pose, the one that was often reserved for the interrogation room and let out a sigh. Did he really want to deal with this alone?

"Travis called me. He said he knew where the killer is. Gave me an address so I thought I would head there."

Now Grissom frowned, for once looking angry.

"Alone?" he asked and Nick clenched his jaw, knowing there would be a reprimand coming. He wasn't mistaken.

"What the hell are you thinking, Nick? You shouldn't even talk with Travis Andrews and now you're going after him hot headed with a gun, prepared to nail his wife's killer? Are you crazy?"

"Damn it, I don't want to nail anyone!" Nick shouted and shook his head in frustration. "Look, we're losing timehere. We can argue in the car just the same, but I want to get going. I doubt Travis found the real killer, and I definitely don't want him to lash out at some innocent guy."

Grissom was silent for a moment and Nick was ready to just push around him and leave, when the criminalist nodded.

"Let me get my own gun," he said and turned away, throwing over his shoulder, "Get the car Nick and wait for me there. And call Jim."

Nick was left in the locker room, for a moment unable to move. Then he blinked and the surprise was gone, leaving him with the need to get moving and find out just what Travis had been doing in the last twenty-four hours. He walked out of the room and headed for the parking lot to get the car. Only in the elevator did he realise what Grissom said last and he couldn't suppress the groan that escaped. He still had to call Brass. Perfect.

ooOOoo

Travis was getting nervous. It was more then twenty minutes ago that he called Nick and the man wasn't here yet.

He was starting to loose his patience. Travis wasn't even sure why he called Nick. Maybe he was scared. He thought the criminalist was more his friend than a cop and that maybe they could make the killer pay before giving him to the cops. And what if Travis wanted to beat the crap out of the scum that killed his wife? It was justice.

The only problem with that was that Travis still wasn't sure the young guy that he followed from downtown had anything to do with Jamie's deathHe'd been more than surprised when the other man entered the building. So he called, maybe hoping to get some assurance that it was the right guy. Or he just felt a sudden rush of fear and didn't want to deal with it alone. Either way, Nick was late and Travis bit down hard on his lip, his fist hitting the wheel. He threw one last glance at the clock in the control panel.

Shaking his head in frustration, he opened the door and reached for the baseball bat that lay on the backseat. Without backup, he would find out who killed Jamie. He made it as far as two steps from the car, when the front door opened and two men exited the building. Scowling in the harsh daylight it took him a second to realise it was 'them' and that they were heading towards the older guy's car. There was no way he could get to them before they reached it, so Travis quickly returned to his black Landrover, shut the door and waited. When he saw the other car was moving out, he started the engine and followed it.

ooOOoo

Something was wrong. He knew it even before he entered the apartment. Seeing Jonah pacing across the room, hands nervously twitching, he knew that something was very wrong.

"I told you not to leave this building," he spoke as soon as Jonah sensed his presence. The youth's eyes went wide and he took few faltering steps toward his Master, hands raised in surrender.

"I-I'm sorry, Master," Jonah stuttered and hung his head, his whole body shaking with fear.

The man that caused this reaction let out a frustrated hiss and the muscles on his face twitched, but Jonah didn't see that, because he was currently paying great attention to the carpeting.

"Jonah." The single word was uttered in a half whisper, but Jonah's head shot up as if it was shouted on top of his lungs.

"M-Master?"

"What – happened?" the Master asked, each word precisely formulated as if he was speaking to a child and not surprisingly, Jonah reacted just like a child scowled at by his parents. His body shrunk and he hastily, half stuttering, relayed the events to his Master. Then he waited. And waited. Finally, when the silence became unbearable, he looked up and cringed at the angry look on the Master's face. But surprisingly, there was also something else and for a second Jonah sawa glint of fear and doubt in his Master's eyesIt was only there for a second and Jonah's mind was still clouded by the effects of the crystal meth he'd taken a few hours ago, so he dismissed the reaction as an illusion.

"Why did you defy my order?"

"I-I just t-thought-" Jonah started, but stopped when the Master growled, clearly not interested in the reply.

"You lied to me!" the man bellowed and took two steps toward the boy, raising his hand, ready to hit, but he stopped in mid motion and instead shook his head, looking disgusted and disappointed. In that moment, Jonah wanted to be hit. He wanted the Master to beat him senseless if that could wipe away that disappointment. He whimpered and took a step toward the man, hoping to redeem himself.

"I'm sorry, Master. Tell me what should I do to make it all right, please, and I will do it. Anything. Just don't..."

"Do not what, Jonah?" the Master looked at him questioningly. "What should I not do?" he pressed.

"Don't leave. Don't be disappointed. I couldn't take it, Master." Jonah said in a whisper, than hung his head, unable to look into his Master's eyes. He heard a sigh and footsteps, then the sound of the drapes being moved and looked up, curious. The other man was standing by the window, his face frowning with concentration.

"Did someone follow you, Jonah?" the sudden question surprised him and he silently shook his head, then replied.

"No, Master. I made sure that no police car was behind me. I don't think they even realised I was there."

"I wasn't talking about the cops, Jonah. Come here. Take a look at those cars and then tell me which one you haven't seen parked on this street before."

Jonah walked to the window and changed places with his Master, carefully moving the drapes so that he wouldn't be seen but so he could take a good look at the street below. It took him a minute, but his eyes finally rested on the black Landrover with tinted windows and with a shrinking feeling in his stomach he realised that he'd seenthe car earlier that day. He'd noticed it because of the dark glass that wasn't usual. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he pulled back from the window and nodded at his Master.

"The black Landrover. I've seen it before."

"Where?" the Master asked, even though he already suspectedthe answer.

"At my parent's building, when I jumped down the fire escape. It was parked at the end of the street."

The master threw him another look that made it clear what he thought about Jonah's actions and Jonah ran his hand through his hair, pulling at it nervously.

"D-do you think they're cops?"

"No," the master replied, this time lost in his own thoughts. "I don't think so. For one reason. The cops aren't using that kind of car and they would've been already busting through this door. No, this is someone else."

"What are we going to do?" Jonah asked anxiously and this time the Master answered him with a smile that sent shivers through his spine.

"Grab your bag. We're going to take care of some business."

xxxxxxxxx

He'd just finished his call to Jim when Grissom levered himself into the passenger seat and closed the door. Nick threw him a quick look as if asking for permission to start the car and get on the road. Grissom gave him a curt nod so Nick turned on the engine. They drove in silence for several minutes, Nick concentrating on the directions Travis gave him earlier and Grissom probably fuming.

"I called Jim," Nick finally spoke, unable to bear the tense silence anymore. He saw from the corner of his eye that Grissom pursed his lips and turned toward him, waiting.

"He said we should find Travis and keep him in the car until he comes." Nick snorted. "Jim sounded like he thought I would allow Travis to simply jump the guy and get his revenge." He looked pointedly at Grissom. "You think that too, don't you?"

"You are a criminalist, Nick." Grissom replied, as if it answered everything, and Nick frowned. "No, I don't think that, Nick," Grissom said with a sigh when he saw the unsure look on his colleague's face.

"Okay," Nick looked somehow disconcerted and this time around it was Grissom who broke the silence.

"So, you've known Travis for a long time?"

Nick blinked, startled by the question. Up until now Grissom hadn't wanted to know anything about Travis that didn't concern the case.

"High school," Nick replied, unsure if the criminalist next to him was asking because of the case or because he simply wanted to know how far Nick was ready to go for the man. "We had a few classes together, played football, went out for drinks. The usual."

"So he was the partying type of a guy?"

"What are you doing Griss, interrogating me?" Nick barked, already nervous enough because he didn't know what would they find.

"No, I merely want to know what we can expect to find." Grissom voiced his disapproval of Nick's outburst with the simple raise of his eyebrow and suddenly Nick felt incredibly stupid. With a weary sigh he rubbed at his face, while they waited on the red light.

"I'm sorry. I just haven't had much sleep from the moment this started, and I'm kinda tired. I just want to find Travis before the jerk does something stupid – like trying to beat the crap out of a possible serial killer. To answer your question – spending time with Travis meant you got into a lot of fights, but that was High School and we were all acting up a little on testosterone. I don't know what to expect from him now, after Jamie's murder. I'd say he will do something stupid and just hope it won't get him killed or behind bars. Is that enough of a reply?"

Once again there was a silence in the car but this time it wasn't uncomfortable as much as nervous. They'd just reached the street Travis said he was waiting for them on.

"We're here," Nick said quietly and kept looking around, searching for a familiar red GMC that belonged to Travis, but he soon realised no such car was there. Cursing his old friend, Nick pulled to the curb and took out his cell. It took the man on the other side four rings to pick it up and even then his breathing sounded strained.

"Travis, we're here, but where the hell are you?"

"Uh, sorry, but the guy decided to take a ride so I'm trailing him. They're in a dark blue Ford, one of the older types and they're heading out of the city limits."

Nick clenched his jaw and hissed in frustration, shaking his head.

"Damn it, Travis. Of all the stupid things-"

"Look Nick, you know I had to do this. I'm behind them but I'm keeping my distance. I don't wanna lose the bastard."

"It may not necessarily be him, Trav, you know?"

"Yeah, but what if it is?"

"Exactly. What if it is and he realises you're following him?"

"I can take care of myself, Nick. Now do you want to know where we're going or do you want to keep on having a go at me?"

With a sigh and not a small dose of frustration, Nick listened to the directions, automatically nodding.

"If you think that they see you, turn the car and get as far away as you can, do you understand, Travis? A creepy feeling, whatever... you get the hell away from them."

"Aren't you a little bossy," Travis asked and Nick heard the slight grin in his voice, some of the tension abating.

"Just when it's needed. Keep me posted," Nick said and after another warning ended the call, giving his cell to Grissom before pulling off the curb.

"They're heading out of Vegas, to Red Rock Canyon. They have ten minutes lead on us, but we should be able to catch up with Travis before they leave the Interstate. Do you think Jonah is trying to flee the county? Maybe they're heading for California."

Nick waited for a reply but it didn't come and he threw a look at Grissom, only to find the criminalist watching his face intently.

"What?" Nick frowned.

"Nothing," Grissom replied and Nick could've sworn he heard a stutter, but when he took another look at his boss, Grissom was once again composed and trying to get hold of Jim Brass. With a frustrated sigh, he shut the cell.

"I can't get a hold of Jim, it looks like his cell is acting up. I left a message at the station, they'll try and reach him through the radio."

"So right now we're on our own," Nick mumbled while his foot pushed down at the accelerator. "Just perfect," he thought.

ooOOoo

Red Rock Canyon was only twelve miles west of Las Vegas and at this time of the year was usually a rather popular tourist attraction. Due to the sudden onset of the killing heat however, it appeared common sense had prevailed even among tourists, and there wasn't a soul to be seen anywhere, even the road was deserted.

Although it wasn't unusual for young couples to take a ride there before the sunset, Travis had trouble coming up with any good reason why the two men would so suddenly head in this direction. He didn't give it a lot of thought though; he just hoped that Nick would be able to find him before he was forced to confront the strangers.

It was only minutes later that Travis realised he should've thought about the reason. By then though, it was already too late.

ooOOoo

Jonah was surprised that the Master let him drive his own car, even more by the direction they'd taken. Sure, this wasn't the first time the Master had taken him out: he still remembered how they'd practiced shooting out in the desert two weeks ago. But then there wasn't any black Landrover following them and his stomach didn't feel as if someone dropped a bomb there.

Jonah silently followed the directions that took them off the main trail, onto one of the less used back roads that led to the mountains. They just reached a rather tricky curve on the hillside. Jonah kept to the hillside on the left, not liking the steep cliff. He didn't think the old Ford was the right car to drive on this kind of road; this was more for a four-wheel-drive vehicle.

"Stop here!" a stern voice ordered and Jonah startled, almost letting go of the steering wheel. He blinked and looked at the Master with wide eyes. Was the man crazy?

"B-but we're just behind the twist. We can't park here."

"Oh yes, we can. Now stop the damn car!"

One look at the man in the passenger seat made Jonah stamp on the brakes and for a second he wondered if the Master had lost his mind.

"Now get out." The curt words were met by immediate action. Jonah had never seen his Master this pissed but he suddenly realised that he didn't want to disobey him again. He stepped out of the car and looked around, unable to suppress the shudder that ran through him when he looked around. It was wonderful scenery. The sun was just going down, colouring it all in orange. The already red rocks were now crimson and it all had an eerie feeling to it. The stifling heat only deepened the urge to leave that his body had fought for the last few minutes.

"What are we doing here, Master?" Jonah managed to ask without a stutter and was quite proud of that, until one look toward his master made him swallow nervously. The man that was standing before him was no longer the man that saved him from the streets; that gave him a roof and food. This was someone much more dangerous.

It was almost funny how Jonah didn't fear his Master when the man told him to kill, how he obliged, even enjoyed the act. Now, when that deadly stare was concentrated on him, he was truly scared.

"We need to take care of the mistake you've made."

Before Jonah could ask for a more specificreply, the Master held up a hand and slightly turned his head, listening. Jonah frowned and in the next second looked wildly at his Master.

"That's the car! We have to move, or he'll hit us-" he panicked and this time the Master nodded.

"Get behind our car. He should have enough space to stop." With that both men took cover behind the car and waited.

ooOOoo

Travis was just talking with Nick on the phone, telling him which road they took, when he drove around the curve. His mouth was still open, but no sound came out. For a moment everything froze.

"Travis?"

The sound of his name pulled him from his stupor and he dumped on the brakes in much the same manner as Jonah, the curse flying out of his mouth even as he realised that there was no way to stop the car. He was driving too fast.

Without thinking, Travis reacted and turned the wheel, hoping to pass by the car. He didn't realise that there was no safety railing that would keep him on the road, until he was heading right down the steep side of the hill. He managed to let out a half terrified, half angry scream, before he saw the ground coming to meet him and everything went black.

ooOOoo

"Travis!" Nick shouted into the phone when the scream went silent and the connection was lost. He almost hit the brakes too, but knew they had to find Travis as soon as possible…if it wasn't already too late.

"Nick? Nick!" he heard the concerned voice calling his name and he blinked, taking in a deep, calming breath, before turning to glance at Grissom.

The older criminalist didn't like the sudden pallor on his face, nor the frantic grip the younger one had on the wheel.

"What happened?" Grissom repeated his question for the third time, concerned when all he got was a grunt as the vehicle accelerated.

"Nick."

"I think Travis had an accident. It sounded-" but Nick couldn't continue, he just shook his head. "I knew it was dangerous, damn him. I just knew something would screw up," the CSI mumbled and Grissom let out a sigh.

"We don't know what happened yet, Nick," he said and the criminalist fell silent. They didn't drive more than half a mile, when they arrived at a sharp turn. Nick slowed down, frowning when he saw skid marks on the ground but no car. He stopped the car about ten yards away from the curve and turned off the engine. He opened the door and got out, Grissom following. They both saw two sets of brake marks, but to Nick's horror one of them led off the road. He looked at Grissom with apprehension.

"These look quite fresh," the CSI commented and the two men followed the trail to the steep hill, stopping only a few feet from the edge.

"My God. Travis?" Nick breathed out as they saw the car at the bottom, wrecked. Nick looked up at Grissom and the older man jerked at the guilt he saw in those eyes.

"We must help him," Nick said and Grissom could only nod. He headed back towards their car to call it in and maybe look for some rope, when something whizzed past his head. He stopped, confused and looked around. He didn't hear the warning Nick shouted at him, only felt the impact when the other man sent him sprawling to the ground. He'd barely come to a stop when his hearing returned and he become aware of the sound of flying bullets. Someone was shooting at them.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: This chapter was un-betaed.

They watched with fascination as the black Landlover get off the road and crashed at the bottom of the hill. Well, it was just the Master who was fascinated by the sight. Jonah gaped, open mouthed and after a full minute of stupor, he finally moved, only to ran toward the hill to take a look. He stopped several feets from the edge, suddenly all too aware of the man standing right behind him. It would've been so easy for the Master to just push into Jonah and send him over the edge too. But nothing happened and Jonah carefully peeked over to take a look. He saw the Landlover, laying on its top, pretty much crushed from the fall it took, but there wasn't any sign that the car was going to blow up. He looked uncertainly at his Master.

"What now? Should we... should we check if he's dead?" he stuttered and cringed at the incredulous look on the other man's face.

"You want to get down and take a look? Perhaps wait here till someone comes?" the Master asked in mocking voice that made Jonah shook his head.

"N-no, of course not. I just-"

"You just nothing. Leave thinking to me, Jonah, you're not doing the best these days. Now get-" the man paused and tipped his head to one side. "Do you hear it?" he asked after a second and as Jonah concentrated, he could also hear the sound of an engine. And it was approaching. Eyes wide, this time with panic, Jonah turned at the Master.

"What now!"

"First, give me my bag from the trunk," the Master calmly ordered and Jonah quickly returned with the weird shaped bag, and nervously shuffled, casting glances at the road.

"Now get in the car and get the hell away from here. We will meet three miles down this road, there's a small parking lot for tourists. Wait on me thirty minutes. If I don't get there in time, take the car back to Vegas, straight to the warehouse. We will get rid of it once I meet up with you, first it needs to be cleaned. And Jonah-" the Master grabbed his arm when the youth turned to the car, ready to get the hell away. Jonah looked into the fiery eyes and swalloved.

"Yes, Master?"

"Under no circumstances are you to return to the apartment. Do you understand?" The Master waited until Jonah gave him a nod, then released his arm.

"Once in the warehouse, you stay there. No trips. Or it'll be your last."

Jonah gave another nervous nod before getting into the car and taking off. The older man spared another glance at the wreck under him, then turned, trying to find out how far was the other car. By the sound of it, it was approaching a little too fast to be an average tourist and the master quickly took his bag and took a good look up the hillside. For a second his face was a frowning mask of concentration as he was looking for the best place, but it soon changed into a grin and he started crawling up the hillside, aware of the danger coming. He arrived to the right place just as the other car pulled over and two men came out of it, studying the tire marks on the road. It wasn't until he saw the gun in the holster on the younger one's side that he opened the bag and pulled out his own rifle.

xxXXxx

Nick didn't know what to do. One second he was looking down at the wreck of the car, fervently hoping that the man inside was still alive and thinking about a way to help him, the next he turned at Grissom, asking him to bring the rope, when he saw a flash of light from the hill above. He squinted and thought it could've been just an old bottle of coke or something else that cast a reflex of the settling sun. But the glass didn't usually move on it's own accord and Nick, his eyes trained from the hours of watching wild birds, caught the dark form huddled between the rocks. With a snap, his thoughts collided and he distantly realised what was going on when the first shot rang out. He saw Grissom pause, unmoving and Nick shouted at him to get down, but the man looked almost paralyzed and Nick knew that he was a perfect target. Without a second thought, he reacted.

With a long forgotten experience, he tackled Grissom to the ground just as he had done in the football plays many years ago. They didn't even land when Nick heard the second shot, quickly followed by a third one and felt a slight impact, as if someone jabbed a finger into his side. He ignored it and taking a breath he had lost, he scrambled to his feet and grabbed Grissom's arm, practically pulling him off the ground. He showed him toward their car with as much force as he could muster. There were several other shots, some of them too close for Nick's liking as he felt their burn on his face when they whizzed around, not even touching skin. He didn't care. Nick saw only the car, the cover it could provide them with and he made quite sure that Grissom was safe before he popped down beside him, leaning against the hot metal. For several moments all there could be heard was their ragged breaths. The shooting stopped.

Then, as Nick managed to calm his rolling stomach enough from threatening to give up the small amount of food he had in the last few days, he turned at Grissom.

"Next time when I shout Get down, do it! Damn!" Nick belowed, anger and fear rushing together, only to be pushed away by the sudden jolt of pain. He grimaced, letting out a hiss, just as Grissom turned to him, eyes wide with guilt.

"I am sorry, Nicky. I didn't hear you."

At that moment, two more shots rang out and they both felt the car behind them move as it was hit.

xxXXxx

When the shooting started, Grissom didn't even get the cance to react. He only felt as Nick manhandled him toward the car and once they were both behind the safety of the metal, he had to concentrate on getting back his breathing, chasing away the black edges from his vision. Finally he get the courage to look at Nick, only to be startled by his haggard look and angry eyes.

Once the younger CSI let him knew what he thought about his actions, Grissom couldn't help but utter the feeble apology and say the harsh truth.

"I didn't hear you."

But there was no reply, no more accusations and he doubted Nick heard him this time, because the two shots fired out made the car behind them rock and both men quickly realised what happened.

"He got the tires," Grissom said, his voice grave.

"Just great," Nick mumbled, bumping his already aching head against the metal and uttering few choice curses Grissom never heard before.

"Did you see where he is?"

"Yeah," Nick replied, but there was more defeat in his voice than triumph. "Though it won't help us much,. He's hiding behind the rocks. No way either of us could hit him from here."

Well, that explained the defeat, but Grissom didn't like the weary tone.

"Are you okay, Nicky?" he asked, suddenly afraid to hear the answer.

The criminalist squirmed a bit, a flash of discomfort passing his face, but then he shrugged.

"I'm fine. What about you? Hope I didn't break anything when I landed on you."

Grissom shook his head, still not letting his eyes off of Nick. Even in the vanishing light he could see the tension in the younger man's face, the glint of supressed pain. His eyes scanned the CSI's body, but Nick was in one of his dark days, he had a dark blue jeans and black shirt, and he was covered in dust and dirt from their tumble to the ground.

"Nick, this is no time to hide anything," Grissom said sternly, but didn't await the answer he got.

"Yeah? So what about you tell me how can you not hear a bullett flying next to your head?" Nick quipped sarcastically and Grissom flinched.

"Never mind. It's not like I need to know it," Nick snorted. Under any other circumstances he would've acted differently, but right now he took it just a little personally. Who wouldn't, really? There he was, in the field without a back-up, counting that the man next to him would watch his back if needed. But that didn't happen and he was leaning against the car, pinned down by a sniper. He couldn't move, could't help Travis, and damn, he couldn't even find the courage to tell the man next to him that he was shot. Nick bit down another curse and turned at Grissom.

"Look, Nick, I-" Grissom started, realising he had to say something , to explain, but Nick stopped him with a raised hand and a shake of his head.

"We need to call Brass. Do you have your cell?"

Grissom cursed, frustrated. He should've came up with the idea himself. He pulled the phone from his pocket, glad to see it wasn't broken. But his relief didn't last long when he shut it off and turned at Nick.

"We're out of range. The rocks are blocking the signal."

Nick threw him an incredulous look, before letting out a half hysterical laugh.

"So you're telling me that we need to get up the hill to be able to call for help, to tell them we can't move because we're pinned down by a sniper. And how do you propose we do that?"

"We wait for the sun to settle. It won't be more than forty minutes. Then we can move."

"And what if he has a night vision, huh?"

Grissom didn't answer that, so Nick did so himself.

"Then we're screwed, man," he sighed out and pushed one hand against his right side, wincing when he felt the wetness seeping through the shirt, the pain pulsing along with his heart.

xxXXxx

"Gotcha," the Master hissed with satisfaction. He knew at least the younger man was hit and two of the four tires were shot out. He was afraid the men could still call for some reinforcement, but one look at his own cell phone eased his mind. No signal. That meant, no help coming. Maybe he could change his plans a little. He wouldn't be able to make it to the parking lot in time and the kid was probably already on his way to the warehouse. The man clenched his jaw, still angry that the youngster defied his orders and caused so much trouble. He had planned two more kills before getting rid of him, but it looked like the cops were getting closer. No, he had to make sure these two won't be a danger anymore, then he'll return to the warehouse, finish the business and collect the rest of the money for the job. Right now though he needed to be patient and wait. Sooner or later, one of them would give him a clear shot and he planned to use it.

xxXXxx

Unknown to the three men above, the man in the wreckage twitched and with great effort, opened one eye. Everything was upside down, but it didn't matter, because the man didn't stay awake too long. The eye slid shut and the head hung down, resting against the air bag as if it was a pillow. The harsh breathing and the sound of the slowly dripping liquid were the only signs of life for a long while, until a moan warned of the man coming back to consciousness. This time, both eyes shot open in panic and the hands, until now limp, flung in the air, grabbing at something, anything.

'H-he-" the man managed to stutter, before he wet his lips with his tongue and took a painful breath. "Help!" Travis managed to shout out as he slipped back into unconsciousness.

xxxxxxxxx

The silence was becoming suffocating and so intense he was afraid the other man would hear the rapid thumping of his heart. The pain was getting worse too, partially because of the hand that was pushing at the wound, trying to stop the bleeding. His breath started to come out a little more harshly and Nick bit into his lower lip to stop the hiss that threatened to leave his throat.

"Okay, that's enough!" Grissom said suddenly and turned to the surprised Nick.

"Huh?" the CSI managed with a dumb look that changed into a grimace as he moved too.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Nicky? I can hear you're hurt and it's not like there's a chance on getting you to a hospital anytime soon."

"So what does it matter?" Nick bit back, irritated by his weakness as well as Grissom's authoritative tone. It looked like the Boss was back and Nick wasn't sure if he preferred it or not.

Grissom let out an uncharacteristic sigh of frustration and shook his head.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you or the team that I have hearing problems. I know I jeopardized our lives, going into the field like that, but if you remember correctly, I didn't know we'd end up here, and you didn't either. I'll be glad to discuss the matter with you when we're somewhere else, preferably safe and alive. But you have to let me help you, or we won't get out of this."

This was the longest speech Nick had heard from Grissom in a long time, and it left him dumfounded. Slowly, he nodded his head.

"Later then," he said, his eyes not leaving the other man's face.

"Later," Grissom promised. Changing the focus of his attention, he pointedly looked at Nick's side, where the hand pressed against the dark fabric of his shirt was a clear give away that Nick was in pain.

" 's just a scratch," Nick finally acknowledged and let out a groan when Grissom leaned over and pried away his fingers.

"Let me see."

The older CSI rolled up the hem of the shirt and grimaced at what he saw. Beneath the blood he could see a long, deep wound along Nick's side, from the front to the back. It looked like the bullet had sliced out a piece of flesh where the wound was bleeding the most heavily, but Grissom doubted it had hit anything vital.

"You were lucky, Nick. An inch to the left and the bullet could've been still inside you."

"See? Told ya it's just a graze," Nick hissed through gritted teeth, not seeing the scowl on Grissom's face.

"It might be, but it's still bleeding and by what I saw, quite dirty. We'll need to clean it and stop the bleeding."

"Well, no offence Nurse Nightingale, but we're kind of in trouble here," Nick snorted and pulled away from Grissom, who was still leaning over him. This time he saw the glare directed at him.

"Cut it out Nick," Grissom said, his voice as stern as ever. "This is no joke. You could pass out from blood loss or get an infection. Like you said, we're in trouble. No need to make our chances even smaller."

When Nick didn't come back with a retort and only nodded in acknowledgment, Grissom felt relief. He really didn't need Nick to start getting rebellious right now. Whatever happened later, Grissom would deal with it, but he needed to make sure there would be a later.

"Okay, scoot over, we're changing positions."

"What?" Nick asked with a frown and Grissom let out a sigh.

"We need the first aid kit, which is in the back of the car. I'll need to open the door, but I can't do that if you're leaning against it."

"I don't think it's a good idea, Griss," Nick mumbled, but had already pushed himself off the car, wavering when he lost the support. With a curse, Nick changed places with Grissom, biting his lip as he fought off the feeling of nausea that came with the move.

"He's – hiding behind the rocks to your left side. Try to keep the passenger seat between you," Nick advised, trying to hide his fear. Grissom nodded and as silently as he could, opened the car door. He waited for a second before pulling it open, then with determination he moved.

xxx

He saw the movement before he heard the creak of the car door opening and a grin appeared on his face. It took even less time than he thought and with the adrenaline rush starting to pump through his body in a higher dose, he adjusted the rifle's position so that the front sight copied the movement of the shadow.

He was about to squeeze the trigger when something else caught his eye and he quickly adjusted his aim, firing two shots in quick succession. The dark object he hit remained unmoving on the ground, half hidden by the hood of the car and the Master had to squint to recognize it. With a silent curse he returned his attention to the inside of the car and fired, but he knew the only thing he hit was the seat.

Gritting his teeth and looking at the sky, the Master realised that his prey would be unlikely to make a move anytime soon. No, sunset wasn't far away…his prey would wait until darkness fell before moving. He didn't have night vision and the men already knew his position – had to, to know how to hide behind the seat.

If he wanted to get rid of them, he would need to move, and perhaps surprise them…and it would be best to do so before darkness engulfed them. Without a second thought, he took his gun and as silently as a cat, changed his position.

xxx

The first thing he saw as he opened the car door was Nick's jacket, recklessly thrown so now it was lying half on the seat, half on the car floor. Thinking quickly, Grissom grabbed the jacket and gave it to Nick with a quiet instruction. The younger CSI quickly obeyed, throwing the jacket away from the car. It hadn't even touched the groundwhen the two shots ushered Grissom into faster action. He grabbed the first aid kit, almost losing his hold on it when the third shot shattered the back window of the car, sending small pieces of glass all over him. He hastily ducked back out of the car and flattened himself on the ground with wide eyes and harsh breathing. Two more shots were fired, out of anger Grissom thought as he swallowed and looked at Nick.

The CSI was paler than before and Grissom secretly hoped it was more from the scare than from the actual blood loss.

"Mission – accomplished," he said with a nervous half-grin he was sure he saw on Nick's face too.

"Yeah, but at what price? My jacket is blown, man," Nick let out in a chuckle and Grissom shook his head, surprised when small pieces of glass fell from his hair. He also felt a small sting where one of them scratched his face, but he had done worse to himself while shaving.

"I am sure the insurance will cover your jacket Nicky," Grissom said after a moment and was glad to see the man relax somewhat.

"How many bullets you think he has?" Nick suddenly asked, once again serious.

"I don't know," Grissom shook his head and opened the first aid kit checking the contents.

"He seems to be awfully prepared. Looks like he knew Travis was gonna follow him and lured him out there to kill-" Nick's voice hitched as Grissom pulled up his shirt and began cleaning the wound.

"Damn," he cursed through gritted teeth and bumped his head against the metal door of the car.

"Sorry," Grissom muttered, cleaning off the blood and looking guilty as hell. Even if the whole shooting wasn't his fault, the fact that Nick had to push him out of harm's way just because he didn't hear his warning, was his fault. And now Nick had been shot and even though the wound wasn't life threatening, it was still painful and debilitating.

"So-" Nick hissed when Grissom started bandaging his side a little more tightly to try and stop the bleeding, "do you think he will... wait for his chance and kill us, or rather try and get off the radar?"

Grissom looked up from the work and gave a shrug.

"I don't know, Nick. But I know the guy that is shooting at us isn't Jonah. So that makes me wonder, who is he and where is Jonah?"

"I'm wondering if Travis is still alive," Nick said in a quiet voice and Grissom couldn't look into his eyes anymore. He knew there was only a slight chance of Travis surviving the fall, and even that chance was becoming smaller with every passing minute.

xxx

It was exactly thirty-five minutes from the moment the Master pushed him toward the car and ordered him to leave. Jonah's fingers nervously thumped at the wheel as he looked into the rear view mirror then back at his watch. Yep, he should've been already gone and still, there was no sign of his Master.

Jonah started wondering if the man hadn't got himself caught. What would happen in that case? Was it really a good idea to go into the warehouse and wait? What if the only one coming would be the cops?

But then Jonah quickly remembered how the Master looked when he realised that Jonah left the apartment and what's more, let himself be followed. He then realised that he didn't want to cross that man, not ever. If there was the slightest chance the Master managed to return to the warehouse, Jonah wasn't willing to let him find it empty: because then he was as good as dead. There was no place to hide from the Master.

Throwing another look at his watch, Jonah turned the key in the ignition and started the engine. He had to turn on the lights and he made a quick circle on the empty lot scowling into the shadows, before he stepped on the gas and headed back to Vegas.

xxx

His world was upside down. He didn't remember what'dhappened, didn't know where he was or why. All he was aware of was the constant ache in his head and shoulder, and the pungent smell of gas.

Travis blinked, his eyes opening into semi-darkness, yet still needing time to adjust. He let out a groan and tried to move, only to yelp in surprise at the weird feeling. Something was wrong and Travis had to think hard to realise what it was. The gravitation.

His arms were touching the roof of the car, but it felt more like they were hanging. A rather fuzzy look outside the wreck made it clear and he grimaced, the urge to vomit even greater.

"What the hell happened?" he thought, trying to clear his head.

"Jamie... dead..." he whispered when the images of the last few days hit him in a rather scrambled pattern. They were followed by the memory of the car, of the young guy before the apartment building, with another man getting into the car. The road to the canyon, some phone call he couldn't make head and tail of, then nothing.

Travis shook his head, or at least tried to before he realised it wasn't a good idea. He gasped as the wave of pain hit him and for several seconds lost track of the world around him, but it quickly returned when he was hit by the smell of the gas. His eyes popped open in panic and Travis started struggling with his own body, trying to get it under control.

If he wanted to survive, he needed to get out of that car.

xxx

The rocks slid beneath his feet, causing a small landslide. He paused, cursing the setting sun and the oncoming darkness. He knew his chances were worse if he couldn't see. The last thing he needed was to warn his victims of his movements. When the last of the pebbles fell and the canyon fell back into silence, he started moving again, this time more careful of his steps.

He slowly, but silently, made it down the hill without any more incidents and now he stopped, listening. There was no sound, except the noise of the night critters coming to life and the light breeze that was quite refreshing. He knew that in the canyon, the temperature woulddrop more than in the city, and he welcomed it. He wasn't very fond of the heat. Resuming his steps, he moved in cat like fashion, the gun held in front of him, ready. It was a risky thing to do, but he always liked the risk.

The man that Jonah called Master reached the Criminalists car. He crouched, then in a quick move came around the car, only to step back in surprise. The CSI's were gone.


	7. Chapter 7

"What's that?" Nick perked up as the silence of the canyon was broken by the fall of some pebbles. Normally, the sound wouldn't have had him reacting in any way, but the encounter with the bullet made him a little jumpy and the fact that there was a sniper above them couldn't be overlooked.

Grissom frowned as he too heard the sound. What made him nervous though was the proximity of it. He looked up, his head peeking from behind the hood of the car, ignoring Nick's angry hiss of warning. Even if his hearing wasn't top notch, his eyes were all right. And thanks to the earlier shooting, he knew where to look.

Still, the shadows made it hard to discern anything and after several long seconds without any motion, Grissom was about to pull back to the safety behind the car, when something he'd thought of as a shadow earlier moved. Grissom stifled a curse and silently turned to Nick.

"We need to move," he whispered urgently, but the tone was enough to make Nick's heart pump a little faster. He wanted to ask what was going on, but he thought he knew and the anxious look on the older man's face told him not to lose time with questions. So he simply nodded and biting his lip at any discomfort, proceeded to follow Grissom.

"Careful, Nick," Grissom whispered just inches from Nick's ear as the younger man stumbled on some rock. He felt the hand on his arm and his first reaction was to shake it off. He wasn't a damn invalid, he didn't need any support, but then he realized that the hand wasn't providing support as much as it was guiding him toward the rock face across the road, silently showing their destination.

To get there, they needed to get across the piece of road that was directly below the place where Grissom saw the sniper the last time, but Nick didn't know that. By the time they reached the rock, his face was covered in cold sweat and he had trouble controlling his breathing, which wanted to come out in loud gasps. But Nick would rather suffocate than alert the sniper of their new location. As it was, he was rather thankful for the descending darkness as it hid his discomfort from Grissom.

The hand on Nick's arm suddenly squeezed, gaining attention even as it silently pointed towards the position they just relinquished. Blinking hard, Nick stifled a gasp when he saw the shadow of a man moving with surprising ease, prepared to strike, only to realize they were not there anymore.

Nick felt another tug at his arm and looked at Grissom, trying to discern this silent communication. The criminalist was nodding up toward the rocks, showing Nick a barely visible path that would lead them above the sniper and maybe give them some leverage. Nick squinted and felt the pull on his arm, knowing Grissom wanted him to move.

He took two steps before he realized that he couldn't do it. To get away was like hiding and he felt the fear that was clutching his insides turn to anger. He couldn't run and let the bastard escape Not after what he did to Jamie, after what he did to Travis. As the anger took hold of his body, Nick drew his gun and pulled away from Grissom.

"What the –" Grissom thought in surprise, before the realization hit him and he couldn't stop the feeling of panic and frustration. "Nick!" he all but shouted in his mind as he blindly grabbed at the air, trying to stop the man from making a fatal mistake.

xxx

"Shit," Travis couldn't help but swear at the situation he found himself in. He was trapped in a upturned car somewhere in the canyon, with no way of contacting help. What was worse, he wasn't sure how he crashed the car and there was that weird feeling in the pit of his stomach that told him the information could be crucialHowever, something more important made itself known to him…the strong smell of gas! Maybe it wasn't enough to make a pretty explosion, but Travis was sure it was enough to catch fire if there should be any sparks.

He needed to get out fast, for more than one reason, and there was nothing he could do but grit his teeth and get moving. First thing he needed to do was to get rid of the seatbelts. They may've saved his life in the crash, but threatened to be more of a nuisance now, painfully digging into his stomach and chest. They were also the only thing keeping him hanging upside down, Travis realized with a painful grunt when he managed to release the mechanism and gravity once again affected his body, dropping him in a tortured heap on the interior roof of the car.

For a minute or two he could only lay in the most uncomfortable position possible, his body crumpled and pulsing with pain as the bruised ribs and other things complained at the sudden change.

Fighting to stay conscious despite the urge to just close his eyes and fall into the blessed world of darkness without the pain, Travis let out several pained moans which changed into grunting once he opened his eyes and started to move.

Whatever he was, a big mouth, a cocky guy with a lack of temper, Travis was also a man with a high pain tolerance. The years in college playing football and later trying out boxing taught him that pain could be pushed to the background. Maybe when it resurfaced later it would be worse and he may whine and cry, but he never let pain stop him from playing. With steely determination, Travis didn't let it stop him now either.

He started crawling out of the wreck, sweeping away the broken glass when it bit into his arms, but he was soon rewarded by the fresh air on his face. Taking several deep breaths - well as deep as his ribs allowed - Travis took one look at the wreck he'd just left and with wide eyes started scrambling away. For the first time he could see the real damage and as the darkness descended, the white sparking of some severed cables became more than visible. What made Travis backpedal from the car was the growing puddle of gas slowly making it's way toward the sparks.

He'd barely managed to get a safe distance between himself and the wreck when the gas reached the cables and the sparks lit the puddle. Travis watched in fascination as the puddle ignited, the fire making it's way to the innards of the car, consuming the leather seats and plastic, making it's way toward the hood and it was then that Travis remembered there was a plastic jerry can full of spare fuel in the back. He raised his arm to cover his face just as the car exploded.

xxx

"Drop your gun!" Nick was about ten feet from Grissom when he aimed the gun at the shadowy figure. He thought he heard his name but shook it off, tuning out Grissom as easily as if the man was never there. His only concern was the sniper before him, who upon hearing the words froze.

"I said... drop your gun," Nick reminded, his voice stronger than he felt, but he was sure the night hid the slight shake of his hand holding the gun.

"I would do as he said." The voice next to him surprised Nick, but also made him a little calmer when Grissom took his stance and aimed his own gun at the figure. They both heard the resigned sigh.

"Okay." The single word was said with as much levity as it could be, which made Nick frown but he didn't waver.

"Put it down, slowly." The figure did as he was told, seemingly undaunted by the whole situation.

"Now kick it over." The gun was kicked all right, just a little in the wrong direction, ending up mere feet from the edge of the road.

"Oops," the man said in a mocking voice and Nick had to fight the urge to pull the trigger just to see him squirm. He wanted to see his face, to finally know who they were dealing with. As if reading his thoughts, Grissom turned on the flashlight every good criminalist had with him and aimed it at the sniper. For the first time the man grunted, his eyes squeezed shut against the sudden light attacking senses used to the darkness.

"Watch it, man," he hissed and blinked, his hand already reaching up to shade his eyes.

"One move and I will shoot you," Nick warned and the safety of his gun clicked.

"Geez, relax," the man said, his voice just a little tad patronizing. Nick gritted his teeth.

"What's your name?"

"Ah, friends call me Master. For everyone else, I am Mister Master," he chuckled and Grissom shot a confused look toward Nick. The man was too cocky under the circumstances, something Grissom didn't like. By the way Nick's stance became more alert he assumed the younger CSI thought the same.

"Griss," Nick said as he gave his handcuffs to the entomologist. "Can you make sure his hands won't move around freely? And keep to the right," he added in a whisper that couldn't be heard more than a few feet away. The last thing they needed was for Grissom to get in the way between Nick's gun and the guy. Grissom nodded and carefully made his way over to the man.

"On your knees, bastard," Nick said to the 'Master' who snickered but did as he was told.

"Now lay down, face on the ground and hands spread." The only reply was a snort. No signal that the man planned to take the order. Grissom was already beside him and he nudged the man with his own gun.

"Down," Grissom said and he could see the man had opened his mouth to say something, but it was lost in the sound of an explosion. When the blast occurred, several things happened at once. Nick's aim wavered in surprise and he had to scrunch his eyes at the sudden light, much like the Master had just a minute ago. Grissom jerked as he too had to squint at the sudden light, the sound like a sledgehammer on his ears. And the Master used the factor of surprise to his advantage.

One moment Grissom was aiming at the man, the next the gun was knocked from his hands. He didn't havetime to think, he was thrown backwards and ungracefully landed on the ground, while the 'Master' lunged for the gun that now lay in the dust of the road, only two yards away.

"Nick!" Grissom managed to shout a warning and the young man half-blindly pulled the trigger, taking a wild shot. The bullet hit the ground only inches from Grissom and he cursed, loudly.

"Ten feet to the left, Nick!" he shouted and this time when the CSI squeezed the trigger, the bullet hit something more substantial than dust. They both heard the pained grunt and saw the 'Master' stop his hunt for the gun, instead scrambling to his feet and starting to run. Nick chanced two more shots, but his sight was still off just as his aim. By the time Grissom goton his feet and the flashlight was once again pointed toward the sniper, the man was already climbing the rocks, at the same time using them as a shield from Nick.

Another two shots failed to hit their target, when Grissom spoke up.

"Let him go, Nick. We won't get him now. We will get him later. "

The younger CSI let out a frustrated growl when he realized that Grissom was right. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, trying to calm down, but the anger and frustration didn't abate, it couldn't. Not when one look toward the edge told Nick that they were too late, that Travis was already dead, had to be. No one could survive the explosion if he was still in the car. And who knew if he even survived the crash.

xxxxxxxxxx

He couldn't believe what hadjust happened. He came so close to being caught that it was almost funny. His imagination even came up with a possible headline – "Cops catch Almighty Master through dumb luck". Yeah, that would be the right title in the newspaper. There was nothing funny about it though, he realised as he scrambled up the rocks, jerking at the last two shots that went wildly his way. He knew the rocks were his shield, just as he knew the men below wouldn't follow him. They weren't stupid enough.

"But how did it get so out of hand?" the man asked himself as he gasped in pain when his injured arm bumped slightly against the rock.

One minute he was the predator, and the next he was the prey. It just didn't add up in his mind and even as he was resting on the top, his eyes looking down and trying to locate the two people below, all he could think about was how he'd screwed up.

The shiver that ran through his body brought him quickly out of his thoughts, especially as he felt something warm making its way down his arm.

"Damn it!" he cursed when he realized his arm was bleeding freely, leaving behind him a great trail that would be easily followed in daylight. But he wasn't planning on staying there for that long. It was too dark to see the damage the bullet did to his arm, but he could feel it and the gentle probe of his healthy hand assured him that the bullet was already out as there were two holes in his upper arm. If he could judge by the pain, the bullet didn't hit the bone. Otherwise he would be probably writhing on the ground and not climbing the rocks. Still, the injury was in the fleshy part and he needed to stop the bleeding.

Ripping off a piece of his shirt, the man quickly bandaged his wounded arm. He then threw a look at his watch and checked the time. It was already forty minutes from the moment he sent Jonah away and he knew without doubt the kid was already half way to Vegas. He sighed, feeling a little sorry for himself. He should've told him to wait longer. Now he had to return to Vegas by himself. It would've been a long walk too, but the man smirked as he remembered the 'shortcut'. Well, it was more of a back up he had for reasons similar to these. After all, he did choose this place for the ambush, planning to use it on the next victim, but it worked out differently. Never mind.

The small wooden cabin that was a leftover of some crazy gold miner from the early 1900's was hidden in the hard terrain, but it was his destination. Only two miles away, he could make it there under a hour and the motor bike with a full tank was waiting on him inside. It wouldn't be a problem to get back to the city and finish the job he was paid for. Two more victims on his list, then he would get rid of the kid, get the rest of his money and bye, bye Vegas. Already in a better mood, he started walking toward his destination, casting one last glance at the useless vehicle below. His arm throbbed and the grin on his face changed into a grimace. Maybe he wouldfind some time and re-pay his debt to the man who shot him. After all, how could he call himself Master if he let this slide?

xXxXx

The light from the explosion was gone by the time Nick threw a second look down across the edge. No flames consuming the insides of the wreck, only one single explosion that took his attention long enough to allow the sniper to flee. Nick once again cursed himself for his reckless actions that could've cost too much. Standing quietly beside him, Grissom sighed then carefully touched Nick's shoulder.

"We should get going, Nick," he said and watched as the younger man looked at him with confusion.

"Go where?"

"Back toward the city. We need to find some place where we can get a signal on our cell phones, then call Brass to send some help."

"You want to leave him here?" Nick barked, and Grissom wasn't sure who he meant: Travis or the sniper? But following the CSI's look, Grissom understood.

"We can't do anything for him, Nick. Travis is most probably already dead. If the fall didn't kill him, then the explosion did. You've seen enough cases like this to know that the chance for survival is minimal."

"But there still is a chance!" Nick shouted and pulled away from Grissom, angrily shaking his head. "He could've fallen out of the car before it even hit the ground! He might be lying there, hurt, waiting for someone to help, and you want me to simply turn my back and walk away? Even you can't be that much of a bastard, Grissom."

"That's enough!" Grissom replied, now equally angry. He understood Nick, hell, he probably wouldn't have acted any differently if the circumstances were reversed, but Nick's words cut deep and his already jagged nerves snapped.

"I am still your supervisor and we're out on a case. I won't let you get yourself killed just because you feel guilty!" The last words hit Nick like a hammer. Not because of the way they were said, but because they were true. And that hurt. Hearing them from a man Nick thought of as a friend and mentor hurt even more. Nick wanted to return the pain.

"You know what, Grissom? I am done listening to you. Go to hell." Seeing the surprise and pain in the older man's eyes made him feel just a little satisfied.

Without anything further, Nick turned and stalked towards their car, opening the back door and brushing off the glass from the broken window. Ignoring the sharp jab of pain in his side, Nick leaned over and started searching.

Grissom was still standing in the same spot he left him when Nick found the rope and other things he planned to use. When he finally decided that the car didn't hold anything else useful, he walked around it and knelt down in front of it, tying the rope to the front bumper of the car. He'd just finished and was about to tie the other end around his waist, when a hand landed on his arm, effectively stopping him.

His first instinct was to back away, his body still in that 'fight or flight' mood, but when he looked up, Nick wasn't facing the sniper but a rather stony faced Gil Grissom.

'A rather pissed off Grissom,' Nick thought without much care. It didn't matter anymore.

"What?" he asked in a hostile tone that surprised even him and Grissom twitched.

"What do you think you're doing, Nick?" the question was uttered in a low, but calm tone that made Nick squirm.

"What does it look like?" he answered. He was just thinking how to tie the rope, when it was pulled from his hands. Before he could protest though, the older man shook his head in warning and raised a hand.

"You're staying here. I am not going to argue with you about this, Nick," Grissom said determinedly. "How do you even plan to tie this around you? You were shot! I really don't think you would be able to save anyone if you end up at the bottom, just because you got dizzy from blood loss. Think a little, Nick!"

"So what am I supposed to do?" Nick asked in a tightly frustrated voice.

"You stay here. I am going." With that, Grissom started tying the rope around himself. After watching him for several long seconds with his mouth hanging open, Nick shook himself and helped him secure the rope, never once meeting the older criminalist's eyes.

"Look Nick, I get what you feel, but we must be careful," Grissom said in low voice when they finished and started walking towards the edge, looking for the best place to try and climb down. "That guy mightstill be somewhere near, watching."

Nick felt the shiver run through his body at the thought that the sniper might be still around, waiting for the right moment to strike. Suddenly the thought of just walking away and callingfor help didn't sound so bad to Nick, but he quickly shook off the doubt and turned on his flashlight, pointing it down towards the bottom of the hill. At first he was just trying to ascertain what would be the best place for Grissom to start climbing, but then he realized that the flashlight could show them so much more and suddenly he felt like an idiot.

He pointed the light towards the wreck and his eyes went wide as he tried to spot the form of his friend.

The wreck looked horrible. It was upside down, squashed like a toy car and there was a rather big hole in the trunk that looked charred. Squinting, Nick shook his head in amazement.

"Man that looks weird. That wasn't the tank that exploded."

"I don't think so either," Grissom agreed, and frowned when Nick's flashlight made a wider circle around the car and caught something white.

"Wait! Back up…there…stop!"

"Travis?" Nick mumbled, not trusting his own eyes. There, almost seven yards from the wreck lay the figure of his friend, unmoving. His clothes were filthy and even from this distance, Nick could see the flecks of blood on them, but what made him call out the man's name louder was the small movement of his hand.

"Travis!" Nick shouted excitedly. There was no reply. He shot a desperate look at Grissom, who took a deep breath and nodded.

"Okay, I am going down. Any good advice?"

"Just this…don't break your neck, man." Nick grinned and gave him an encouraging pat on the back.

"Thanks, that helps a lot," Grissom replied with a snort, then slowly began his descent.

xXxXx

Catherine slammed the phone back on its cradle, shaking her head in despair. She was sitting at the desk of one Gil Grissom, Entomologist and current supervisor of the team. 'Current', because Catherine was sure he wouldn't stay in his position much longer after this night.

She'd come to work a few minutes before the shift started and engrossed herself in the case she was working on, giving the finishing touches to the documentation. She'd realized that something was wrong only when Warrick and Sara came to her, asking where Grissom was. They'd managed to close another case and needed his signature.

But Catherine didn't know where Grissom was, so they went around the lab, looking for him, only to realize that not only was Grissom missing, but Nick was too. Their first thought was that they'd been called to a new case and had just forgotten to inform them. But several calls later Catherine found out that there were no new cases. When she checked at reception, she learned that both men left the building together half an hour before the shift's start. Frowning, she tried to call first Grissom then Nick on their cell phones, but both men were out of reach. The empty pit in her stomach grew wider and she couldn't stop the image of a horrible car wreck invading her mind.

Thus the next logical person to call was Detective Jim Brass.

"I heard from them about an hour ago, they went to meet Nick's buddy, Travis. Then I was called of to the hospital, a victim from one of my cases just woke up and I had to take his statement. I turned off my cell."

"What about your pager?"

"Ah, the damn thing is broken. Who's making these things, anyway?" Brass rambled.

"You didn't try to call them later?"

"I just left the hospital, first call I got is from you. Why?"

"I can't reach either Gil or Nick. Just where did they have to meet this Travis guy?"

"Nick gave me the address. I already sent a car to check it out, but their car isn't there. Look, let me check at the station, maybe they left me a message there. I'll call you back, okay?"

So Catherine waited five more minutes, silently seething in the Entomologist's office, futilely trying to find some scrap of paper with an address or something else that would tell her more. Before she could lose her patience and call Brass back herself, the phone started ringing.

"About time," she muttered, thinking the detective had some good news, but she didn't anticipate the cursing that met her.

"Damn stubborn mule headed-"

"Jim?" she broke through and the cursing stopped.

"Oh, sorry," Brass mumbled. "I have some news."

"I take it it's not good?" Catherine asked and her hand gripped the phone tightly. "What happened, Jim?"

"Ah, nothing as far as I know," Brass said a little more calmly, realizing that his outburst might've spooked her a little. "They're probably all right, though I doubt they will be once I finish with them. Those stupid goons went on a chase, without a backup."

"Where?"

"Red Rock Canyon."


	8. Chapter 8

Not for the first time in the last hour Nick wished the bullet hadn't grazed him. It wasn't like him to whine about the pain, hell, he could handle the constant stabbing in his side, what he hated was the fact that it stopped him from being the one climbing down to Travis. He was eager to know his friend's state, but Grissom's climbing skills weren't the best and the older criminalist had already had to stop several times because his foot slipped. That resulted in Nick having to grab the rope harder and pull, to steady Grissom. The motion of course required the use of some of the stomach muscles that were in that fleshy part of Nick that was hurt. Damn.

So it was no wonder that Nick wanted to be the one doing the climbing. He imagined it couldn't hurt him more than this.

Of course, Nick knew that what he really despised right now was his own vulnerability. He was out in the open, his back turned to the place where the sniper had vanished. His hands were both on the rope, so his gun was resting in its holster. And there was no one to warn him, back him up. So yes, Nick would much rather have the pain but be going down the hill out of range of the sniper, than being up here in pain and feeling the crawling sensation of knowing his unprotected back had a huge figurative target painted on it. Screw the pain.

Cursing that he let himself be persuaded by Grissom to stay there, Nick shot another nervous look at the car and the rocks behind. His ears strained to catch the sound of the sniper, and he couldn't stop from jumping nervously at the tiniest noise that came from behind him. Under any other situation it would be ridiculous, but the throbbing in his side reminded him that this wasn't a game, that there were real bullets involved.

The double pull on the rope in his hand make him turn back to the edge. It was the signal from Grissom that he'd reached the bottom, or that at least he was at the ropes end. In the next moment, Nick felt the weight on the other end of the rope vanish as Grissom untied himself.

Relieved that he no longer had to hold the rope, he let it fall to the ground. He turned to face the uphill slope, and nervously scanned the area, looking for any movement. Not seeing anything, he grabbed his flashlight and made it to the edge, as far as the ground let him, then shone the light down to the place where Travis lay, hoping to see the man was regaining consciousness.

But as the light shone on the place, Nick let out a surprised curse.

Travis was gone.

xXxXx

Silence was the only thing he sensed. An awfully scary silence all around him. And darkness. The feeling of his body returned slowly, creeping back stealthily. The pain lurked near, he could tell, but right now it didn't trouble him. What made his heart beat faster in panic was the silence.

Was he deaf? No, he could still hear the beat of his pulse, the blood running through his temples. It sounded like rushing water, like a waterfall flowing through a steep narrow gorge, or perhaps waves crashing on to rocks at the beach. It was so loud he licked his lips, thinking he'd taste the salty water of the sea. All the motion did was wake up the muscles in his face and he let out a groan when the pain came shortly after. The sound of rushing water turned into the sound of the wind, crunching noises and other unidentified sounds that made Travis' skin crawl.

The memories hit him hard, still mixed up and scrambled, but there in spite of his wish to erase them once and for all.

Jamie... the car wrecked... sounds of shooting? And oh yes, his favorite one, the jerry can full of gas exploding only afew yards from him. That would probably explain the troubles with his hearing, the ringing that persisted in his ears and the pounding headache. But it didn't explain the other sounds that were now harshly invading his consciousness.

Travis slowly opened his eyes, for a moment only blinking and trying to focus the double image into a clear one. At least partially successful, he carefully tried moving his limbs. Wincing as the movement awakened more bruises he grimaced. The worst seemed to be his ribcage, which was good news, in a way. Travis knew what broken ribs felt like and he also knew he could handle it, as long as he didn't make any quick movements. Trying to find some help with a broken leg would've been a much bigger problem.

Slowly, Travis turned so he was now lying fully on his back and facing the rocky slope and the road above him, trying to find out where that crunching sound was coming from.

Despite the bells clanging in his ears, he heard the voices first, his eyes quickly following the sound as he spotted the dark form slowly climbing down, toward him.

Travis froze, unable to move, unable to even blink. His breath caught in fear of giving away his position.

Who was the man coming to him? Was it someone to help or harm him?

The image of the ambush he drove into made a sudden appearance in Travis' mind and he gritted his teeth from crying out in anger. Did they want to check if he was really dead, or finish the job?

Well, he wasn't planning to idly stick around long enough to find out. Grimacing from pain, his breath hitching, Travis slowly and silently got off the ground, standing up on his unsteady legs, albeit a little hunched. He looked around then back up at the man who was making quick progress in the climbing. He had to act fast and use the element of surprise in his favor – that was the only way to survive.

xXxXx

Grissom let out a relieved sigh. Finally, he was at the bottom. Pulling twice on the rope to let Nick know about it, he proceeded to untie the rope. He could feel the bruises around his waist where the rope bit into his flesh when he slipped, but he knew a hot bath and a night in his bed would cure it much easier than if he had taken a fall down the treacherous hill. He wanted to call out to Nick and ask him if everything was alright up there, as he too had a bad feeling about leaving the younger man in so vulnerable a position. But they'd decided not to make unnecessary noise, in case the sniper was still somewhere near.

Grissom turned on his flashlight and slowly headed toward the place where Travis should've been. But he wasn't. Grissom froze. The frown on his face as expressive as it could be as he caught his breath in shock.

"What the hell-" he started to say, but didn't finish. Another flashlight from above him lit up the scene and he caught a movement to his left, just before something connected with his side. For the second time in so many hours, Grissom was sent sprawling on the ground, only this time, he wasn't tackled for his own safety as Grissom quickly realized when the first fist landed on his face, closely followed by the second. He barely managed to raise his hands in defense.

"Travis, no! Stop it!" Nick bellowed above them and the attack stopped as quickly as it started, leaving both men panting heavily. Grissom opened his eyes, blinking away the white spots in his vision.

"Travis?" he asked, confused. Why the hell would the man he came to save be trying to pummel him to death? And upon seeing the said man nod in equal confusion, eyes staring almost crossly from concentration, he thought 'And how is he even able to do it?'

"Can you... get off of me?" Grissom then gasped out, realizing that one of the reasons he had trouble breathing was the man practically sitting on his chest.

"W-who are you?"

"Gil Grissom-" he gasped out and took a deep breath once Travis rolled off of him, "Las Vegas Crime Lab."

"Nicky's boss, right?" Travis mumbled and swayed and Grissom quickly grabbed him before he could fall back on him and pin him to the ground with his weight.

"Yeah. Are you all right?"

The only reply he got was a snort and Grissom sighed. Of course it was a dumb question. Travis looked as if he'd walked out of the ring after ten rounds with Muhammad Ali. When Grissom shone the flashlight on him, every piece of skin that wasn't covered with clothes was bruised or scratched. But based on the fact that through all this Travis still managed to tackle the CSI and give him few of his own bruises, Grissom thought he would survive. Of course, there could be some internal injuries, but there was really no way to determine these. So Grissom asked the question.

"Do you think you're capable of climbing up this rock pile or would you rather wait here for a rescue team?"

This time he got an answer.

"No way in hell am I staying here," Travis grumbled and to show he meant it, he stood up. "Are you coming or do you need some time to re-coup, old man?" Travis added with a smirk and Grissom couldn't stop the scowl. Travis didn't see it though, he was already shuffling toward the rope.

"I will really have to talk to Nick about his friends," Grissom muttered under his breath as he followed the other man.

"Nick?" he called out and instantly a beam of light hit him in the face. Grunting, he shaded his eyes and looked up.

"Yeah?"

"Is everything okay up there?"

"Yeah," another one worded reply and the beam of light was thankfully pointed at Travis. "You ready to come up, Travis?"

"Dude, I was born ready," the other man replied and with Grissom's help tied the rope around himself, though this time they had to be careful so the rope didn't put too much pressure on his ribs. After several tries, they finally managed and Travis was ready to go.

"Just don't forget to send back the rope," Grissom told him without much humor as Travis gave him a sloppy salute and started climbing.

xXxXx

Jim Brass wasn't someone to fool around. He didn't like to see his people in danger, but what he hated even more was if said people got into harm's way all by themselves. Right now, anger mixed with fear as with every passing minute they were unable to localize either CSI, he knew the chances of finding them alive became smaller. He still hoped that the two criminalists had simply turned off their cell phones because they didn't want to be interrupted during whatever investigation they were doing, but he knew that even Catherine's daughter Lindsey wouldn't believe that.

So that left only one option. They were in trouble. Sending a patrol car to search the several hundred of acres of Red Rock Canyon wasn't the fastest way to find them. He needed some help.

"Can a turned off cell phone be tracked?" Sara asked, standing by the table in the conference room. The table was currently covered with a geographical map of Red Rock Canyon, kept in place by the cups of coffee or soda in the corners. Four people were standing around and staring at it, just when Jim Brass walked through the door.

"What if it isn't turned off, just out of reach? The rocks in the Canyon could easily block the signal," Greg spoke up and frowned at the plan, as if the two men would miraculously appear right in the middle of it.

"Hey, Jim, any news?"

"So far nothing. I just came to see what you'd come up with."

"Nothing. Why the hell did you even turn off yourcell phone, Brass?" Warrick growled, clearly distressed by the detective's actions. Jim's eyebrows went up and he looked at Warrick, showing only a small amount of the irritation he felt.

"Because I had to. It's a rule at the hospitals, and my witness was still in the ICU. Don't try to pin it on me, kid. Gil and Nicky took it into their heads that they'd go and play detectives, and God knows, once I find them I will let them know it was a mistake. But for now, stuff that anger of yours somewhere and let's concentrate on finding them. Now…any bright ideas?"

Warrick continued to scowl at Jim, but he didn't say a thing. The rest of the team stared at the two men with surprise. They weren't used to seeing them argue, and it was a true sign of how distraught Brass was.

"I might have an idea," Greg piped up from the corner and all eyes turned on him.

"Well then, go on Greggo," Warrick encouraged him, for the moment ignoring the detective.

"Nick's car has a GPS Now, the signal can be blocked by a canyon wall just like the cell phones, but we don't have to know where they are now. Nick's car is sending off data about the car's location every few minutes to one of the satellites if the GPS is turned on, which in turn is sending it to the central system. We can have the coordinates of where they were before the signal was lost."

"Remind me to buy you a coffee once we find them, Greg," Sara said with a smile.

"Nah, I don't drink that cheap dishwater you call coffee, so I'll pass. Although, if you're going to buy some of my special Blue Hawaiian I'll be happy to accept…but that would cost you, darling," Greg replied with a grin, even as he sat behind the computer to try and locate their wayward colleagues.

xxxxxxxxx

His side was screaming from the abuse but Nick couldn't stop and take a rest because there was a good chance that Grissom wouldn't make it up the damn rock. Even Travis had had trouble with the last few feet. Anchoring the rope hadn't seemed so hard earlier when Grissom was climbing down, but climbing back up was a little trickier and it required Nick's help. He bit down on his lip to stop the moan that threatened to escape and pulled on the rope, his heels digging into the gravel. One, two, three... Nick counted each pull, timing his breathing in between, as his jaw clenched with the effort.

Finally, he could see Grissom's head peeking up from the edge and after one more pull the man was back on solid ground, dirty, gasping for breath and shaking from exertion. But he was there, untying the rope from around his waist and Nick could finally rest. With the way he felt now, lying down sounded like a great idea, but he dismissed it with a weary snort when he remembered why he felt that way. He let the now useless rope fell from his hands, and was surprised when he felt the sting. Looking at his palms, he saw two deep rope burns. Sighing heavily, he jerked his thoughts back to the situation they were in and walked toward Grissom, who was just getting up.

"I think I could use some time in the gym," Grissom remarked, shaking his head slightly while trying to stretch out.

"I wouldn't have guessed you're a fan for weights," Nick joked lamely as he brushed the sweat from his face. Grissom threw him one of his looks, but refrained from any comments when he saw how tired the other man looked.

"You pulled me up by yourself?" he frowned and instantly looked around for Travis, finally spotting him sprawled on the ground, leaning against the car in much the same place where Nick was hiding earlier from the sniper. He appeared to be either sleeping or unconscious.

"He made it three steps from the edge and crashed. He's got some broken ribs, the pain must've been killing him but he made it up," Nick explained, seeing Grissom's look.

"Broken ribs? And he climbed up this?" If nothing else, Grissom had to give it to the man. He must've had quite a high toleration for pain.

"He's been doing sports his whole life. Ya gotta get used to it," Nick commented, hissing as they started walking toward the car. "Just hope he didn't puncture a lung or something, or we are screwed"

"What about you?" Grissom asked and pointed at Nick's side. The bandage he'd applied before was now dark with blood, some of which had run down onto Nick's pants. "Guess that pulling us up didn't help much to stop the bleeding."

"I'll be okay," Nick replied and turned away from the older criminalist's watchful eyes, choosing to redirect the concern to the worst injured person of the trio.

"Hey, Trav? You still with us"

"Huh?" the man blinked and looked up at Nick with bleary eyes. "Man, you alright?" Nick asked with growing concern, which was instantly waved away.

"Yeah, yeah. Sure man, I just took a quick nap. You know how I enjoy these adrenaline sports"

"Well, I hope that your insurance applies to adrenaline sports then, because your car forgot to take a chute before jumping," Nick joked and Travis gave a soft snort, aware that laughing wouldn't be the smartest thing right now.

"Man, your humor sucks," he said and only then noticed the other man standing behind his friend. "Ah, I see your boss made it up too. Now that we're all here, we can go and find the bastard that killed Jamie and sent me off the road," he said, grumbling as he tried to get to his feet without Nick's help.

"What are you talking about"

"Come on, Nicky, you told me you got that guy. He's unarmed and injured. How hard can it be to catch him?" Travis saw the doubt in Nick's eyes and knew what he would say even before he opened his mouth. Travis wasn't ready to let him though and continued, his voice taunt with an edge of desperation to it.

"Nick, you know what Jamie meant to me. She didn't deserve that kind of death," Travis' voice hitched, but he continued, his eyes silently pleading for understanding. "I swear I won't do anything stupid. Hell, I just want to catch him, then you can call the cops and bury him in some damn cell for all I care. But I need to do this, Nick. I need to catch him. Tonight. Before he packs his bags and flees to another city. Please"

Nick opened his mouth, ready to protest, but he couldn't. He saw Jamie's body in his mind's eye, the carving on her forehead, the pale blue lips, and the empty eyes. Then he saw the other victim, the one without a name. But somewhere, there was probably a wife with kids, worrying and waiting for a man that will never come home again. Above this all though Nick saw the face of the killer that called himself Master, that grin on his face, the arrogant confidence even when he should've been shaking with fear as the two guns were pointed at him. His resolve wavered and instead of saying 'Travis that's a stupid idea', he turned to Grissom, his intention clear.

"Maybe we-"

The older CSI, who until now had just silently listened, wasn't willing to stand by idly and let them do what they wanted.

"No! We are not going after that guy!"

"Why not? We can get him."

"Did you hit your head Nick?" Grissom all but shouted, the stress of the last few hours clearly visible on his face. "Just look at yourself! You were shot, you're still bleeding. Your friend here is in even worse shape. He shouldn't be even moving, and you are talking about climbing these rocks in the dark and tracking a killer who obviously had some military training?" Grissom shook his head and angrily pointed at Travis.

"He already made a mistake and we almost paid for it with our lives. I am not letting you make another one. Either we are all going down that road and try to get a signal and call help, or we are all staying and waiting here. No splitting up. And no climbing,"Grissom finished emphatically, and sucked in a deep breath. Nick was looking at the ground, obviously he'd got through to him, but what troubled him was Travis. The man was defiantly staring at Grissom, his whole body seething with anger.

"What right do you have?" Travis growled in a low voice and took a threatening step toward Grissom. Nick instantly looked up, but didn't move. Grissom also stood unmoving.

"Jamie was my wife. And that bastard killed her in cold blood. He marked her, like some animal. You can't stop me from going after him"

"No, you're right. I can't stop you. But I can stop Nick. And if you have any brains left, you'll realize that you can't find anyone, not in the state you're in!"

"You wanna bet?" Travis spat and pushed himself away from the car, stumbling toward the rocks where Nick told him the killer vanished. The two CSI's watched his wavering steps and Nick was about to go after him when he felt the hand on his shoulder.

"Nick," It wasn't a warning, more like a plea and Nick rolled his eyes.

"I am not that stupid, Griss." Without saying anything else he pulled out of Grissom's hold and crossed the short distance between him and Travis.

"You coming with me, Nick? Or are you staying here with your boss?"

"You know, Grissom can be a pain in the ass sometimes, but I think he's right."

"Not you too, Nicky," Travis said with disgust and turned away, but Nick grabbed his arm, effectively halting his movement.

"He's right," Nick insisted, turning so that he was facing Travis. "That guy is long gone. I didn't injure him enough to stop him, not if he was capable of climbing up these rocks as fast as he did. And don't forget that this was an ambush. He ran you off the road. He was familiar with this place. And do you really think you can track someone at night?"

Grissom followed this from the distance. He heard Nick's comment about him and his jaw clenched, but then he realized what Nick was trying to accomplish and he suddenly felt relief. Nick was on his side now, not on Travis'. He was back in the team. That made everything so much easier. So Grissom watched how he worked his magic and slowly convinced Travis that this wasn't the right time or place, but that they will catch the killer. And for the first time in the last hour Grissom really believed it. When the two man stopped talking and Nick turned to him, he nodded.

"We are about to head for some help. What about you, Griss?" Nick asked, his voice hoarse from all the talking. He desperately wanted something to drink, but didn't have the energy to make it all the way back to the car. "Can you grab me the water, please?" he added, then tried to clear his throat.

"Just a second," Grissom called out and headed to the car. But to Nick's surprise the older man took out an evidence kit and opened it, grabbing for a pair of gloves and some other things he couldn't really see because Grissom blocked the light from the flashlight with his body. In the next minute Nick watched as Grissom searched the ground with the flashlight, only to kneel down next to a small pool of blood.

"What the hell is he doing?" Travis asked, confused and little pissed by the delay. Now that he wasn't all gung ho to catch the killer, he felt the urgent need to get his body flat and possibly take some aspirin. All the adrenaline vanished from his body and now he only wanted to rest. He felt bone tired.

"Gathering evidence," Nick replied, feeling a stab of guilt that he hadn't thought about it himself. Sure, there was small chance that the 'Master' would return and scrub all his blood off the gravel, but he could easily take his gun and vanish with possibly the only thing that had his fingerprints. So Nick didn't comment when Grissom finished and came up to them, an evidence kit with the now bagged gun in one hand, the drink for Nick in the other.

"Thanks," Nick mumbled as he took the bottled water and gulped down almost half of it before stopping himself and offering it to the others. Grissom was the last to drink and he tucked the empty bottle into the side pocket of the kit.

"I know there's a parking lot maybe a mile and half up this road, there should be a phone for emergency calls. But I think we should go down, back towards the city. The guys from the lab should already know we are missing. By now, they could be on their way here." Grissom waited, expecting to hear a protest from Travis, but the man simply looked at the road and shrugged.

"Okay for me." When Nick nodded too, the trio started walking down the road in silence, each of them finding talking as an activity required too much energy.

xXxXx

It took him even less time then he thought it would. The stars in the sky shone brightly, leading him to the right path and from then on, it was easy. The wound in his arm pulsed in time with the anger he felt. Such a stupid mistake to make, and now he was wounded. He should've known the two cops wouldn't be as easy a prey as the rest of his victims. They knew he was there and ready to kill, while he was mostly used to people unaware of the danger they were in.

But that would change. He wanted new prey and he knew just where to find it. Two more to go then the man who had paid him would be free. And he would have fulfilled his commitment, getting the rest of the money.

The cabin appeared in the shadows and the Master's steps became faster. He needed to get away from Red Rock Canyon before those cops managed to call for help. After that, most of the roads out would be closed by police barriers and he wasn't up to explaining what he was doing out here in the middle of the night.

The key to the door was where he'd left it the last time he'd been here, hidden under one of the smaller stones by the wall. He quickly entered the small hut and pulled off the dark sheet hiding his bike. His hand brushed against the metal with loving care then he pushed the bike out in the open, put on the helmet and light jacket that was waiting ready on the only chair, and closed up the cabin. He had to push the bike several yards up the path before he could sit on it and start it up, but when the engine came to life, he couldn't stop the satisfied smile. It always paid off to have a back up plan.

The cabin was only two miles from the main road leading from the canyon, the same one he'd come from, but he knew that even if the cops responded immediately to any calls for assistance, they were still behind him. For a second he played with the idea of turning back and finishing his job, hell it wouldn't be so hard, not with the element of surprise back on his side, but then he decided against it. Too much time had passed and he didn't know what the two men had been doing since he'd left. No sense in taking more risks tonight. He still had to take care of some things, one of them a boy called Jonah. He definitely didn't forget what the boy had done, how he'd endangered his plan with one stupid movement.

The Master revved the engine and within seconds, the bike was flying toward the city. He'd ridden the bike for only ten minutes, when he saw the lights. He blinked, at first thinking that it was just the stars reflecting on his helmet, but then he realized that the stars didn't shine blue and red and he quickly stopped the bike, narrowly avoiding a skid as the tires screeched against the road. Once he stopped, heslid off the bike and looked for a place to hide. He spotted some bushes growing near the edge of the road. In the light of the day they wouldn't hide much, but at night they would suffice. Pushing the bike towards them, he hid it first, then carefully crawled into the undergrowth, hissing as he felt the little spines scratching his skin. He growled a curse but fell silent as he not only saw but also heard the wailing of the sirens. Not a moment later, two police cars flew past him. He waited till they vanished behind one of the curves, then with a grimace crawled out of the bushes. Five minutes later, when he was riding his bike on the High Road to Las Vegas,the helmet was the only thing that hid the smile on his face.


	9. Chapter 9

It looked almost ridiculous how two of the men dragged themselves along, each one swaying toward the rock face, keeping as far from the edge as possible. The third one hovered anxiously around them wanting to help, but as his earlier offers of support were all but waved off, he was reduced to watching them struggle along. With a shrug he decided to keep a watchful eye on them, secretly expecting both of them to fall, because really, Grissom didn't think they'd make it too far. For the fifth time in the last two minutes, he pulled out his cell phone and looked at the display, only to stop in the middle of the road.

"I've got a signal," he announced and already his fingers were pushing the speed dial he had for Jim Brass' number.

"Thank god," Nick sighed and also stopped, leaning against the rocky slope for support. The world was swirling all around him and he felt dangerously lightheaded. He knew it was more from the blood loss than anything else, but still it didn't make him feel any better. Hearing Grissom finally talking with Brass was a great relief. He didn't even know when he slid down to the ground, but when he opened his eyes he saw that Travis was sprawled in a similar fashion only a few feet from him. Dejection, pain and fatigue all leant a deathlike quality to his features, and Nick realized his friend's appearance was aptly described by the phrase 'death warmed up'.

"They're already on their way," Grissom reported as he closed his cell, then frowned when he saw the position Nick was in.

"Are you okay, Nicky?"

"Yeah, just cool," Nick replied and glanced at Travis. "It's him I'm concerned with," he mumbled then with a sigh turned back to Grissom.

"So, who are 'they'?"

"Grissom?" Nick called out a little louder when the man failed to react to his question. Just how serious was this hearing problem of his? Nick knew he would need to have a longer talk with the Entomologist about that. He repeated the CSI's name and this time Grissom reacted.

"Hm?" he looked distraught and had a frown on his face, which wasn't really surprising. The world had just gone totally silent. No sounds of the wind, no night critters making their noise. No sound coming from Nick even though he'd seen his mouth all of a sudden, as if someone flipped on a light switch, it was all back. Grissom had to shake his head just to get his bearings back. He hoped the younger man hadn't noticed his lapse, but seeing the sudden look of concern on Nick's face he knew this was a futile wish.

"I'm sorry. You were saying?"

"You talked with Brass and told me they are coming. Who, exactly?"

"Oh, I think Catherine's on her way too, with another patrol car."

Nick took in the unhappy look on his supervisor's face and cringed.

"I take it he wasn't happy with us."

"That's mildly put, Nick," Grissom sighed and grimaced, while Nick simply banged his head against the rock.

"God, you told him it wasn't our fault, right?"

"I didn't really have much time to explain the situation, Nick," Grissom said with a hint of shame, and Nick wondered if the older man was hoping that Jim Brass might develop instant laryngitis, just so he wouldn't be able to deliver the lecture he was probably already working on. He felt a sudden urge to laugh and couldn't stop the chuckle.

"What is so funny?" Grissom asked with a frown.

"Man, I am just glad I can fake passing out from blood loss if he starts his lecture." Nick heard a strangled snort from the body next to him, letting him know that Travis was still among the living, and could appreciate their dilemma. The only one not seeing the humor in it was obviously Grissom who kept scowling at the two men, but at the same time looking as if he wished a rock had just fallen from the sky and knocked him unconscious. That look only deepened when they all heard the sirens approaching, and the familiar blue and red lights appeared, blinking in the distance.

To announce their presence, Grissom turned on his flashlight and pointed it to the sky, standing over Nick and off the road so that he couldn't be accidentally hit by the car. Soon, two cars pulled over and the blaring of the sirens stopped, much to everyone's relief, although he would've appreciated the sirens over what was to come any time.

"God, Grissom, what the hell were you two thinking?" was the first thing he heard from Jim Brass when the man get out of the car. Grissom was still squinting from the head-lights of the car that were pointed right at the trio, so he couldn't see the detective's face, but he had quite a good idea what expression would be on it if he could.

Grissom took a deep breath, deciding that maybe leading the attack first wasn't such a bad idea.

"We were trying to call you, Jim," Grissom started, only to be stopped by a raised hand.

"You should've called for back-up, dammit! And what the hell happened to these two?"

"Nick! My god, are you alright?" that was Catherine and suddenly Nick looked just as uncomfortable as Grissom felt.

'Serves you right,' Grissom thought then turned back to Brass.

"Look, I will explain everything but we don't have time for that now. You need to send out an APB on our killer and on Jonah's car. Travis should be able to give you the description of the car, we didn't see it. The killer is possibly still somewhere near, you should set up road blocks on every road that leads out from Red Rock Canyon to Vegas. It would be good to call out the dogs, he may still be on foot. Nick also managed to shoot him-"

"Whoa!" the detective stopped him in the middle of the sentence, looking grim and slightly confused. "What the hell are you talking about?" he asked, more than a little irritated and Grissom had to take another breath, before he started explaining the situation.

Nick in the meanwhile had to deal with a rather pissed off and concerned Catherine. The fact that Travis looked more in the need of some medical care was his only hope to steering the attention from himself.

"It's just a scratch, really," he repeated for the third time when Catherine eyed the red stained bandage on his side. "I am alright," he said and to prove his point, tried to stand up. He managed to get himself vertical, only to end up lying on the ground without the faintest idea how he got there.

'Damned blood loss', Nick thought and groaned, feeling someone press a new bandage on his side.

"Yeah, I can see that, Nicky," Catherine muttered, for the moment thankfully leaving the lecture behind, but somehow Nick was sure he'd get it sooner or later. "Just stay stillan ambulance is on the way."

"I don't need-" Nick started but groaned instead as Catherine pushed harder onto his side.

"Sorry. You were saying?"

"Urgh, nothing," he mumbled, scowling at her. She only smiled and took his hand, steering it to the bandage. "Just keep some pressure on it. I'm going to look at your friend."

Blinking, Nick looked around and realized he must've been out of it for more then just a few seconds. Grissom was by the car talking quietly to Brass who was relaying some details on his cell phone. The dirt road they were on was lit by the light of several car head-lights and Nick just then noticed there were two more police cars. Frowning, he thought he could see another set of blinking lights approaching.

Nick looked to where Travis lay and found his sight was blocked by an officer and Catherine.

"How is he?"

"Alive," Catherine replied somehow curtly and Nick winced at the tone. She looked back at him, almost accusingly. "You could've both been killed, Nick!"

For a moment he wondered if she meant him and Travis, or Grissom. By the way she looked it didn't really matter, Nick realized.

"It's not like we knew what would happen, Cath," he tried to explain but seeing her scowl, he refrained from adding anything else.

"Exactly! You didn't know, but still you wanted to play heroes!"

Nick really wanted to be pissed. Hell, he felt the anger building from the moment the cavalry arrived. Since then all he heard was scolding and reprimands all around. He was surprised that Grissom took it so calmly, but then he really looked at Catherine and beneath all the scolding he saw fear and concern. And truth be told, he would've probably acted the same way if he found out two of his colleagues just walked into an ambush. So instead of blowing a gasket, he just smiled at her reassuringly and then Nick did something that probably canceled out that smile. For second time in so many minutes, he passed out.

xxxxx

The warehouse wasn't as big as he thought it would be, but still in the quietness of the night, it was eerily still and full of dark shadows. He allowed himself to turn on only the lights in the office, the only closed off room that was slightly above all the boxes and crates that were filling the warehouse.

Jonah didn't know what was in the crates, though the Master let him know it was just a cover. He probably rented the warehouse and let one of his 'friends' use it as storage. After all, what he needed was just that office and the place to hide if anything turned out wrong. It was also the place Jonah hated more than anything. Not the place alone, more like the idea behind it, the sole purpose. The warehouse meant they were in trouble. And being in trouble was bad, especially if he was the one that caused it. Sure, he should've told the Master about him having a record, but he thought nobody could access it. Maybe the guy that followed him to the apartment was his fault, but damn, that guy wasn't even a cop. Well, Jonah still didn't know who the guy was, but he was sure it didn't matter anymore. Either the Master succeeded and the men following them were all dead, or the Master was dead or caught. If he'd been caught, then Jonah was in trouble. It never occurred to him that there was also a fourth option.

Jonah had arrived at the warehouse without trouble, though there was more life on the street than usual. It was still too hot to sleep so people would rather go out, the air and slight breeze a welcome relief. For a moment Jonah had been very tempted to just stop the car and get out, to try his luck at the casino and win some money, get a ticket on the bus and simply leave the city, leave Nevada and go somewhere where the weather was cool and where no one knew who the Master was or what he'd done. Canada sounded like a pretty good idea.

These were only fleeting thoughts of someone who didn't really have any inclination to leave. It would mean he had to take his life into his own hands, to start taking charge, to start being responsible. But Jonah couldn't, and that left him in that warehouse with dark shadows and strange sounds and the fear of what will come. He'd never needed his dose more than now, but he couldn't, the Master took it before they left the building.

So here he was, pacing the small office, casting nervous glances into the darkness behind the windows, one hand unconsciously playing with the knife he'd found in one of the drawers. He couldn't stop shaking and he wasn't really sure if it was the need for another dose or simply the fear of what lay ahead of him. When he closed his eyes he could see the faces of the people he'd helped kill, the wreck of the car at the bottom of the canyon. He knew that if the Master was successful, more people would die and Jonah finally started questioning it. Why were they killing these people?

The words his Master told him every time he asked rang in his head but they weren't making any sense. Not without the dose of crystal meth that helped to clear hismind. Without it, nothing made sense anymore, only the feeling of wrongdoing persisted,like a bad taste after a hangover. Jonah let out an angry growl and threwthe knife at the door. It embedded in the wood and stayed there. Taking a deep breath, Jonah walked over to it and pulled it out, not caring for the now visible holein the door. He felt the fear turn into rage and hunger. He needed to get rid of it, and the only way that was going to happen was to kill someone. Focus all his fears onto one person and kill them, and in doing so, kill all the fear. It was only a temporary solution, because the fear always returned, often bringing the feeling of guilt. This was somethingJonahcould deal with. His hands started playing with the knife, turning it around, feeling itsweight. It meant security, it meant power. He needed to feel it, to have something that made him feel safe.

Somewhere a door creaked and he heard the sound of an engine echoing through the warehouse. He jumped, startled, and rushed to the door, opening it slightly. It wasn't a car, he knew that right away. Maybe a bike. Jonah frowned. He didn't know the Master owned a motorbike. But then the man could've easily hitched a ride. What he did know was that it wasn't the cop.

Still he couldn't stop the shiver that run down his spine. If it was the Master it meant the people following them were dead. That meant complications – something the master hated.

Jonah cringed when the sound of the engine stopped right below the office and the sound of hard steps echoed through the building.

"Well well, I see you didn't fuck up this time, Jonah," the Master said sarcastically when he saw the young man standing half frozen behind the desk. "Maybe I will let you live after all," he said with a sneer and closed the door.

xxxxxxxxx

Nick looked at the clock on the wall and noted that the minute hand hadbarely moved since his last check. With a disgruntled groan his eyes slid to the IV that was attached to his hand, the red liquid slowly but surely dripping into his veins. Frankly, he hadn't been against the idea of visiting the hospital when he was lying on the road with Catherine hovering over him. He was just glad that the EMT's took good care of Travis. But he'd really believed that once at Desert Palms, he would be allowedto go home, take a shower and get some much needed sleep. Instead, he was stuck here until the blood transfusion was over. Obviously, all his pulling on the rope hadn'thelped, and he'd lostquite a bit of blood, but that was being replaced and Nick finally saw the last of the red life dripping down the IV tube. His hand automatically reached for the nurse's call button.

Even though the doctor told him he should stay through the night, it was really just a recommendation, one Nick didn't take too well, so the doctor just shrugged and told the nurse that once the transfusion was finished, he could be released. Now Nick waited for the night nurse to appear, nervously tapping his fingers against the stark, white sheet. Finally, an older woman in uniform came and disconnected the drip, putting a band aid over the needle site. She made a last check of his vitals, scribbled them onto the chart, then turned to him with a bored look on her face and told him that the doctor had already signed his discharge papers and that she would bring his clothes.

Nick thanked her and waited another five minutes, grumpily thinking about the impossibility of taking a shower. Even if the bullet hadn't really entered his body, it still left a rather deep graze on his side, one that required several stitches. Now his side was taped and bandaged and he was warned about keeping it all dry and clean and to check for any oozing or infection. So a shower was not an option.

The nurse returned with his clothes and Nick was surprised to see it was a clean shirt and pair of jeans, no sign of any blood.

"One of your friends stopped by and brought these. He had to take away the old clothes as evidence."

Of course, Nick should've realized they'd need the clothes. He shook his head, knowing that he really needed some rest. His thinking was way too slow. But who had come for the clothes? He asked the nurse and she gave him a rather good description of Warrick Brown. Nick frowned, wondering why Warrick hadn't stopped by to at least say hello. Was he that pissed at him? He must've said something or at least looked pretty puzzled, because the nurse smiled and shook her head.

"Oh, no, the young man wanted to know which room you're in, but you were just getting stitched up so I told him to wait. Then his pager beeped and he was called away."

Well, that made sense. Nick thanked the nurse and waited until she left, before starting to dress.

It was already past four in the morning and Nick wondered how he would get home. Sure, he could've called someone from the lab, after all, the night shift was supposedly still on and he was sure one of his colleagues would gladly provide a lift home. However, he really wasn't prepared to face any of them, knowing they'd either fuss over him or scold him for rushing into the situation without any backup. Not that he was alone, Nick thought grimly. This time he'd managed to bring his boss with him too. Well, calling a cab looked like the best option, really. He would be much better prepared to 'face the music' after a few hours of sleep. Nick was happy to find that Warrick had thoughtfully put his badge and wallet into the clean clothes, providing him with some money, though his cell phone was nowhere to be found.

With a pained grunt, Nick left the room and headed toward the closest pay phone. He kept one arm wrapped around his injured side, grimacing as each step pulled at the stitches. The painkillers the doc gave him had obviously stopped working. That reminded him of the prescription he needed to pick up at the pharmacy and this time he didn't even try to hide the grimace. He ordered the cab to pick him up in twenty minutes, hoping that at this time of the night there wouldn't be a long wait at the pharmacy. He was waiting for the elevator, when his eyes paused on a door with a familiar number. Casting a quick look around and seeing the corridor was mostly empty, the night nurses quietly chatting at the other end, not looking, Nick changed his plans.

As inconspicuously as a man can be in the early morning hours inan empty corridor, Nick made his way to the door and slowly slid inside, taking a second to adjust to the dim lights. Once he could see he noticed that all three beds in the room were occupied. But only one person perked his interest.

"Travis?" Nick whispered, not really wanting to wake his friend if he was truly asleep. But the man's eyes popped open and he grimaced.

"Hey. What's the time?"

"Almost five a.m. Did I wake you up?"

"Nah, the nurse did a few minutes ago," Travis said and squirmed in the bed, trying to find a comfortable position. After a minute he gave up and looked at Nick through slightly dazed eyes.

"So, whatcha doing here, Nicky? Don't tell me you're going for the great escape," he said with a grin and Nick returned it.

"Nah, I'm going home. Just thought I'd stop by and see how you're doing."

"Well, the doc was truly surprised I was even alive, after I told him how I crashed the car. So he told me I can consider myself lucky," Travis uttered with dark sarcasm that caught Nick in surprise. "I lose my wife to the hands of some whacko, then I drive the car off the road and then when I finally have the chance to track down that bastard, I'm stopped by your great boss Grissom. Yeah, I really consider myself lucky," Travis snorted and Nick shook his head at the bitterness he heard in his voice.

"You know there was no chance we could track him down. Not in the dark, not when we had trouble even walking. Grissom was right. And whatever you think about the man, he's your best chance of getting those responsible for Jamie's death. Trust me on this, Travis."

"Whatever. Look Nick, I am a bit tired there and would like to catch some shut eye before that nurse comes back and wakes me up again just to see if my brain isn't scrambled. And I bet you wanna catch some Z's yourself."

Seeing that he was being dismissed, Nick let out a sigh and nodded. Maybe later it would be a better time to try and convince Travis that there was still some chance to catch the killer. That he shouldn't lose trust in Nick and the people around him. Somehow, it was really important to Nick to not fail on this case.

"Yeah, sure, you're right man. We both need some beauty sleep. I'll see you later then."

The only reply he got was a soft snore and Nick wasn't sure if it was played or real. It didn't matter anyway. He left the room and headed for the elevator, hoping that the driver of the cab would wait few more minutes.

-xXxXx-

It was several hours later that he was woken up by the ringing of his phone. Blearily reaching for the thing, Nick yelped out in pain when the movement pulled on the stitches in his side.

"Shit!" he cursed, teeth clenched. The sleepy feeling was instantly gone, the pain as efficient as an alarm clock. By the time Nick finally managed to get out of the bed and reach the phone, it had stopped ringing. Frowning at the machine, he thought about going back to bed but he realized that it would probably start ringing again before he could put his head back on the pillow. He'd counted to twelve when the ringing started again and he picked up, leaning against the wall, one hand rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

"Yeah?" he asked and wasn't at all surprised when he heard Jim Brass on the other end.

"Sorry if I woke you up, just wanted to ask when you'll stop by. We need your statement about what happened yesterday."

"Uhm, what's the time?"

"Something after four."

"Afternoon?" Nick was surprised to realise he'd slept so long and still felt like he could sleep ten more hours.

"Yeah," the detective said and Nick heard the barely suppressed yawn in the otherman's voice. He would bet that Jim Brass hadn't slept at all and had spent most of the day with the search party looking for the 'Master'.

"Did you find him?"

"No, though we found a few things that might help. We also know the name of the second victim and I'm heading over to Desert Palms to ask your friend Travisabout it. Maybe there was some connection between those victims after all."

"Can you stop here and pick me up, Jim? I'd like to go with you and talk to Travis myself, but my car is... where it is anyway?"

"In your garages, I think someone from the day shift is already going over it, checking for evidence," Brass said and Nick had to cringe at the thought of what state he would find his car in. "Okay Nick, get ready, I'll pick you up in ten."

"Thanks Jim," Nick said ending the call. He stood there for a moment, debating whether to take a shower or not, then deciding that he'd settle for splashing some water on himself and cleaning his teeth before Brass appeared. 'And maybe take another of those pain pills,' he thought when his side protested the simplest movement.

-xXxXx-

He was sitting in the car and listening to Jim Brass speaking about what they'd found, while intensely watching the life behind the windshield, contemplating the facts.

"So the dogs found nothing?" he asked fighting off a yawn. He really shouldn't have taken the pills on an empty stomach.

"They found a small cabin or a hut, whatever they call it, about two miles from the place you were shot at. And they found some tire tracks. Warrick thinks it was a motorbike. He took some casts, maybe we'll be able to find what kind of a bike they belong to. Also some sets of prints on the lock and doors. Sara says they're the same as from the gun the sniper left on the scene, but there was no match in AFIS."

"What about the army? If he had some training they should have him in their database."

"Yeah, well, I think Grissom is working on that but it could take some time. Here we are," Brass said as he pulled the car into the parking lot. With some reluctance, Nick get out of the car and followed Jim through the hospital corridors, finally arriving at the same door he walked out of earlier that day. He just hoped that Travis' attitude was better after a few hours of sleep and that he would be able to help. They really needed a breakthrough.

This time there was only two occupied beds, and the other patient was talking quietly with his family behind the half pulled curtain. Travis was staring ahead, watching afootball game on TV. He looked up when he heard their foot steps, and Nick cringed at the grimace that appeared on Travis' face. He obviously wasn't happy to see them, but Brass either didn't notice it or he didn't care.

Nick watched in calm detachment as the detective took his friends statement about last night and wondered how Travis could look so 'unaffected' for the lack of a better word, by the events. Maybe it just hadn'thit him, how easily he could've been killed. Or he didn't mind...

Nick was brought out of his thoughts when Brass finally mentioned the name of the second victim.

"Does the name Howard Jerry ring any bells? His wife just returned from a visit to her family this morning and found the house empty. She called his work but they hadn't seen him for almost two days, so she called the police."

Nick watched as Travis' face scrunched up in a thoughtful frown and something in the pit of his stomach flickered. He could almost hear the gears turning in Travis' head as he shook it once, slowly.

"I don't..." Travis bit into his lower lip and looked up at Brass, his eyes suddenly going wide.

"Did he work as a business man? In a company that was selling computer technology?"

Both Brass and Nick perked up, looking at each other with that glint in their eyes.

"How did you know that?" the criminalist asked, trying to sound calm, even though he felt anything but that.

"About a year ago, Jamie was called up for jury service. Howard Jerry was also there. I...I remember it because just a few weeks ago Jamie mentioned meeting him at work. She was really excited about it, but she wouldn't tell me why. I totally forgot about it," Travis said, his voice crestfallen as he realised that there was more to Jamie's murder than he'd thought. If he had've been a little more insistent on knowing what she was doing, maybe his wife could've been still alive.


	10. Chapter 10

"Have you slept at all?" Warrick Brown asked when he saw the barely suppressedyawn and Grissom's tired look. The other man nodded, not caring about giving a more elaborate reply simply because it would take too much effort. He'd managed to leave the scene at the Canyon in the early morning hours, just after the dogs had led them to the , along with Catherine and Warrick who had joined them earlier, checked it out being extra careful about the prints on the ground. After they were done, Grissom let Catherine handle the rest of the work and was taken home by one of the cops at the scene.

He'd taken a quick shower, only then feeling some of his bruises and the stinging of the water on the tiny cuts on his face from where the window in the car was shattered by the bullet. He was still lucky to be alive and with that thought he'd crawled into bed and fallenasleep. Just like had Nick thought, he was woken up by the call from Brass who informed him about the progress they'd made. Grissom, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, grumbled a reply and ended the call, already halfway towards the kitchen and some coffee. Ten minutes later he'd felt almost human when he called Warrick, asking to meet him at the place of the first victim – Jamie Collins.

Now he stood in the centre of the living room, idly and distractedly wondering why Jamie hadn't taken her husband's name after they'd married but then he realized that it was now 'in' for women to keep their own names. Shaking off the thought, Grissom tried to concentrate on the task at hand. They weren't sure what they were looking for. Maybe some notes, a letter, or newspaper clippings. They only knew that if Jamie was on a lead, she would keep some kind of notes. Every journalist did. The only question was where, and how to find it.

The work was made a little easier by the fact that the CSI's didn't have to treat the house as a crime scene. Sure they had gloves and were paying careful attention to the surroundings, trying to leave the rooms as intact as possible, but they weren't looking for fingerprints, hair, DNA or other hardly visible evidence.

"I'll take the rooms upstairs," Grissom told Warrick and left the downstairs for the younger man.

"Anything in particular we're looking for?" Warrick asked standing in the hall, while Grissom made his way up the stairs.

"Anything mentioning Howard Jerry or the Fedderson case from last year. She was in the jury."

Warrick's eyebrows rose upon hearing the name and he grimaced.

"Well, no wonder someone wanted her dead then. That case was a mess," he muttered, already out of Grissom's hearing range. With a shake of his head, Warrick decided that the best place to start the search would definitely be the study and he headed for it.

Half an hour later, Grissom's phone rang. It was Jim Brass. Grissom was in the middle of the bedroom, looking under the mattress on the bed on the off chance that Jamie may have hidden something, perhaps a diary, there. No luck.

"Grissom," he took the call as he straightened up, frowning as he gazed around the room, hoping for inspiration as to where to look next.

"Hey Gil, we checked the telephone records and guess who called Jamie three times during the last month?"

"Howard Jerry," Grissom said and imagined the nod in reply from Brass.

"Right on first time. Now, the last call came three days before Jamie was killed and she called him back that same day. Guess they had more than just one talk."

"Check out the names on the list, see if any of them attended the trial. They will either be the next victims or they'll know what's going on."

"I'm already on it, Griss. How are you doing?"

"We haven'tfound anything interesting, yet." Grissom sighed and rubbed at his eyes. The few hours of sleep he'd had just weren't enough and he had to shake his head when for a second all he heard was static. He blinked and just caught the end of the sentence coming from the phone.

"-I left him at the lab," Brass said and Grissom frowned.

"Sorry Jim, I missed that. Who?"

"Nick. When we finished at the hospital, we stopped at the station. He gave quite a good description of that Master guy to our sketch artist. I already sent it out to all the patrols. Then I left him at the lab. He wasn't very happy about it, I tell you."

"Well, it's not our fault the doctor hasn't cleared him for the field," Grissom said with a frustrated sigh, although secretly he was glad the younger CSI was out of harm'sway, for the moment at least. What happened last night was a little too close for Grissom's liking.

"Somehow I have a feeling not even a clear bill would've made you bring him into that house," Brass said in amused voice and Grissom could only agree in silence.

"He'll have to leave this to…" He stopped when he heard Warrick's voice coming from downstairs.

"Grissom!"

"I have to go, Jim." Without waiting for a reply, Grissom disconnected the call and headed down the stairs, Warrick already standing at the bottom, his gloved hands holding a small diary, eyes glowing with excitement.

"I've found it, man. And it explains everything!"

-xXxXx-

Nick paced the small room like a caged tiger. The rest of the night shift were out working, but he was excluded from it. All he could do was sit there and help out in the lab, while Grissom and Warrick were out in Travis' home, going through his wife's things, while Catherine and Sara were at Jerry's place, doing the same. Now that there was a connection between the two victims, they logically tried to find some evidence. Maybe Jamie had made some notes maybe Howard Jerry called her before she was killed. Nick knew only that he wanted to be there, needed it.

But the damn doctor had barely cleared him for lab duty. Field work was out of question until his stitches came out, as the doctor had strictly forbidden him any bending, crawling or other 'strenuous' activity that could pull some of the stitches. But working on the field meant just that...it was all about bending, kneeling in the most uncomfortable positions just so the CSI could reach the tiniest bit of evidence hidden somewhere under the couch: something that Nick wasn't allowed to do.

So after arriving at the office and facing several curious stares from other coworkers, Nick literally holed up in his Supervisor's office. Now with every step toward the wall, he was facing some species of a bug or other critter. It took him about ten minutes of pacing to realize that he didn't need to be at Jamie's house to come up with answers. All he needed was his computer and the time to do some digging…and he currently had a lot of time.A little while later, Nick was sitting on the couch in the break room, wincing as he tried to find the best position that didn't hurt his side, while also allowing him easy access to the files he'd brought there. They were all concerning the Fedderson case and Nick prepared himself for a long read.

Louis Fedderson had been a man in his mid thirties and already a millionaire. He was born in Vegas and he'd once said that with all probability he'd die there too, not realizing how prophetic his words really were. He wasn't into the hazard of gambling, nor did he find any interest in the big world of Casinos, Hotels and Clubs. His specialty of choice was drugs.

Nick didn't have to read through the man's history to know he started out a small time dealer, gradually expanding his business to the point where he didn't have to risk selling the stuff himself. And the only time he came in contact with it was when he shook hands with someone down in Mexico who sold the ingredients. The risk was on his men who took care of everything. Louis Fedderson was smart, as were the men he worked with. The DEA had only pieces of information, none of which was enough to put Fedderson behind bars. Not for drugs.

But life could be weird and it caught up with Louis Fedderson in an unexpected way. On one very hot night, almost two years ago, he found his girlfriend in bed with another man and killed them both. It should've been an easy case and finally a chance to get Fedderson off the streets, but something went wrong. The key witness suddenly changed his statement, evidence was lost somewhere on its way to the court. The jury had no choice but to find Fedderson not guilty.

Of course most people knew that something went wrong. There was really no doubt that Fedderson killed those two in cold blood and deserved to be put in jail. But the prosecutor couldn't convince the witness to retract his second statement, and the evidence had been lost. Fedderson was freed. It didn't matter that almost six months later he was killed when a bomb went off in his car. The cops never found the culprit for that either.

Nick stirred, feeling the muscles in his leg cramp. He put down the files and stretched, mindful of his sidewhich had started aching once again.

He understood that the case was a mess, it was quite clear that someone was paid to sabotage it. But the question was, who? And what did that have to do with Jamie and Howard Jerry?

The jury wasn't important in this case. The prosecutor practically had to drop the case. There was no sense in threatening or paying off some members of the jury, thus there was no reason to kill them now. Could it be some angry relative of one of the two victims? But why kill the jury, if Fedderson was already dead? It wasn't making any sense.

The only thing Nick could come up with was that Jamie and Howard Jerry witnessed something they weren't supposed to, but that wasn't making any sense at this time. If that was the case though, something had happened not so long ago, something that started the killings.

Nick shook his head with frustration and looked at his watch, realizing with surprise that he'd been sitting there more than two hours. No wonder he was so stiff. But that also meant that the others should be coming back soon, if they already hadn't. Putting all the files together and taking them with him, Nick left the break room in search of the other CSI's.

-xXxXx-

"Maybe I won't have to kill you after all."

Jonah shuddered when he remembered those words and for a moment he wondered if the Master meant them. Was his life in danger?

He threw a glance at the man whowas now sitting behind the desk, the white bandage around his arm stained by blood from where the cop's bullet had hit him. The only thing that made the Master a little satisfied was the fact that the cop was hit too, however minor that injury might be.

Jonah watched as the Master pulled on his shirt. When he looked up at him though Jonah's eyes turned away.

"There are some things we should make clear, Jonah," the Master spoke sternly and Jonah heard the movement of the chair only a second before the hand landed on the back of his head with a resounding slap. Jonah looked up, startled, and Master tightly smiled.

"I want you to look at me when I speak, understood?"

Jonah nodded, then quickly added: "Yes, Master."

"Good. Now that I have your 'attention'..." the Master's eyes locked with Jonah's and suddenly he had the urge to swallow the big rock that appeared in his throat. That look was deep and threatening, more than the words could ever be.

"I promise you, Jonah... you lie to me, or go against my orders once more, and it will be the last thing you do. You will wish for the kind of death our victims had. Is that clear?"

"Y-yeah," Jonah stuttered and took a step back. The Master smiled and cocked his head, as if thinking. He opened his mouth to say something, but stopped and frowned. Jonah blinked, when the man pulled out a cell phone from his pocket. It hadn't rung; he must've had it set on vibrate.

The Master looked at the display and his face turned into a scary frown.

It was a text message and the master quickly read through it, then automatically erased it, looking slightly disgusted.

"Change of plans. Get some sleep. You'll need to be prepared."

"For what?" Jonah asked carefully, the feeling of dread stronger than ever.

"The cops are too close on our trail. We'll have to finish it, before they figure out who our next target is. We have to make a move tonight."

xxxxxxxxx

"We found her diary," Warrick announced to the team that assembled in the conference room.

"You read it?" Nick asked harshly, the thought of it somehow appalling to him. Warrick raised his eyebrows and the others shot Nick a curious look.

"Chill, man. That definitely isn't your average 'girly' diary," and seeing another protest coming, this time from Sara, Warrick quickly raised his hand to stop it.

"No offense, Sara," he grinned and she rolled her eyes but let him continue.

"This is the ultimate dream of every detective," Warrick flipped a look toward Brass who was half sitting, half leaning against the corner of the table, looking as unimpressed as ever. Deciding that it was a good time to stop playing around, Warrick cleared his throat and tapped his fingers against the leather bound book.

"Like I said, this isn't as much a diary as a notebook. She wrote in everything work related, or at least most of it. The last note is from the day before she was killed."

Hearing that, everyone in the room perked up, even Grissom who hadn't really had a chance to have more than a cursory look inside the diary.

Seeing the interest, Warrick stood up and walked toward the projector. He opened the diary, searching for a particular page, then turned it down and scanned it so it could be projected onto the big screen on the wall. Feet scuffed against the carpet as the CSI's turned their chairs to view the big wall screen, Sara yelping as the static electricity zapped her when Nick accidentally brushed her arm. She rubbed her arm while glaring at him, and he gave an apologetic shrug, nearly yelping himself when his stitches pulled at his skin with the movement. Catherine snickered quietly while resettling in her chair and Warrick rolled his eyes, causing Grissom to glower at each of them in turn while Brass merely ignored them after a quick glance, although closer scrutiny might have revealed his lip twitched.

Once they'd all settled, Warrick showed them several pages of handwritten text, some of them dated up to a year ago, others only a day before Jamie's death. Warrick read several sentences out loud, the rest they read in silence.

"Who's this guy Alan Rickson?" Sara asked with a frown when she saw the name several times on the same page.

"That's the prosecutor in the Fedderson case. And here's the reason why he would want Jamie and Howard Jerry dead."

"...we were just leaving the court through the garage, when Kyle stopped with this puzzled look on his face. Elli stopped too and asked him what was wrong. He hushed her and nodded towards the farthest end of the garage," Sara read the part Warrick pointed at.

"I didn't realize at first who the man was that Kyle kept staring at, but then he slightly turned toward us and we all saw Alan Rickson.

"So what?" Howard asked quietly. He didn't like the man, none of us did after that blasted case. We all saw the smug look he had on his face once the court ended and Fedderson was released. Pity the journalists were all paying more attention to Fedderson than to him.

This time Rickson wasn't alone though. There was this weird looking guy. He was standing right under a light so we could all see his ugly face. He had quite a scar on his left temple too. I don't know what they were doing. Sure, they were talking but in hushed tones and we were too far away to hear them, but the man with the scar seemed to be pissed. In contrast, Rickson looked cool, as if everything was ok. We watched the scene for several minutes, but then a car pulled up and both Rickson and the man stopped talking, looking startled. By the time the car was parked and its occupants were walking toward the elevator, the guy with the scar was already gone and Rickson was heading to his own car. We went our own way too, a little puzzled and maybe just a bit curious. I know for sure that the Fedderson case went down the toilet thanks to some people that were paid off by Fedderson. But it's only now that I am getting the suspicion that Rickson was one of them."

"Who's the guy with the scar?" Nick asked with a frown, squirming on his chair which started to get uncomfortable. Grissom shot him a look, then nodded at Warrick to continue.

"Two months ago she wrote this."

"I just got a call from Howard Jerry, one of the guys who was on the jury of the Fedderson case with me. I hadn't seen him since the trial collapsed. Sure, we'd exchanged a few phone calls, mostly about the speculations that appeared in the newspapers a few days after the court ended, but nothing else. And now he called me, all excited and faxed me over a newspaper clipping. It was about the Jackson case. There was a photo of the drug dealer that was one of the men charged for drug dealing, murder and fraud. He wasn't the biggest fish in the lake, but was the sidekick of one. Here he was with a big, shit-eating grin on his face. And next to him in the photo was Alan Rickson, the prosecutor on Jackson's case. Guess who the drug dealer was?

Yeah, the guy from the garage. So I am getting a little curious. What was the guy with the scar talking about with the man who was trying to convict him on serious charges just a few months later?"

"Well, that explains why Alan Rickson would want to get rid of any possible witnesses. If someone got wind of him knowing that guy with the scar, they may start digging into his other cases too. And sooner or later something might turn up against him," Catherine was the first to speak and the others turned to her.

"Yeah, but how did he know about Jamie and Howard Jerry?" Nick wondered, the frown on his face deepening.

"She had to contact him at some time. He must've recognized her from the court with Fedderson and put two and two together. Who knows, maybe he sent someone to talk with Jerry, the second vic, just to get the names of the others."

"We won't know for sure now," Grissom shrugged and his attention was back on the diary. He took it from the projector and sat back with it, flipping through the pages. "The main thing is that we know the names of the other two people that were with Jamie and Howard. They're the Master's next targets."

"But we still don't know their full names," Sara protested. "They might not even be from the jury."

"Oh, they were in the jury all right," Nick said and opened the files he'd brought with him. "There is a full list of the jury." He quickly found the page he was looking for and handed it to Jim Brass whose hand was the first to reach out. The detective's eyes ran down the list and a slight grin appeared on his face.

"We not only have their names but also their addresses. Good thinking, Nicky."

"So shouldn't we be going after them and warn them?" Nick asked, a little impatiently.

"You're right, Nicky," Brass spoke and pulled out his phone. "I'm sending out a patrol car to both of these people and we'll be monitoring them. If the master wants to attack, we'll catch him."

"What about Alan Rickson? After all, he's the one who hired that killer."

"First we need to catch the Master. Maybe he'll talk and then we could put up a solid case against the prosecutor. But without him, we don't have much."

"We still have two living witnesses. There must be a reason why is he so afraid of them," Nick pushed and Brass nodded.

"Sure. But our priority right now is the Master. If I go to the judge and ask for a warrant against Alan Rickson, he will know it before I get the paper into my hand. And even if he doesn't bolt and leave the country, he would surely call the killer and warn him. Our best chance is that the killer will attack in the next few days and we will catch him. Getting Rickson in jail is another matter."

The detective held Nick's gaze for a moment, wanting to make sure the younger man understood that he wasn't letting Rickson off the hook. He turned to his phone only after he received a small nod.

"What now?" Nick asked after a second, turning to Grissom who at first didn't reply. He had that lost look in his eyes once again and Nick realized that after all that had happened the previous night, he still hadn't got a chance to talk with Grissom about his apparent hearing loss. Maybe it was time to do just that.

"Grissom?" Sara asked with a concerned frown and Grissom blinked, clearing his throat.

"Yeah, well, I am sure Jim will take care of the two witnesses. We should probably return to our cases." As if on cue, his pager beeped and the CSI pushed away from the table and stood up.

"Cath, how are you doing with your cases?"

"Pretty well, I just need to finish up in the lab. Do you have another case for me?"

"Yes. We have a double homicide at Holiday Inn. I need you there, as well as Warrick. Sara..."

"Sorry, but I still have to look at the Anderson case."

"What about me?" Nick asked, having the feeling that he was being purposefully left out. He wasn't mistaken.

"You can finish Catherine's job at the lab or go home, I don't care," Grissom replied a little harshly. He blinked as he heard his own tone of voice. Noting the look on Nick's face, he continued more gently. "If I remember rightly, you're not even supposed to be at work today."

Nick felt the anger rising anyway. He considered saying something about Grissom not being in the right state to go into the field either, but he bit his tongue instead. After all, he didn't know what was really going on with Grissom and it definitely wasn't the wisest idea to call him on it before the whole team, however tempting it was.

"Fine," he grumbled and waited until the team left the conference room, ignoring the concerned look he got from Catherine, the apologetic shrug from Warrick or the scrutiny he got from Grissom. He made a show of picking up his notes and turning off the projector, waiting until the room finally emptied.

"If you don't need me here, I can do something more useful," he muttered to himself.

Yeah, going after Travis and trying to clear the air between the two of them definitely looked like a better plan.

-xXxXx-

There was no way he could sleep. He had trouble even keeping still long enough for the Master to fall asleep. The very last thing Jonah wanted was for the man to stay awake and think about what happened in the last twenty four hours. He was angry enough as it was and Jonah was scared to even breathe let alone crawl out of his sleep-bag and take a walk around the warehouse, like he itched to do. He so desperately wanted to clear his head, but he wasn't allowed to, and the damn sleeping-bag was too warm for his liking. He slowly opened it, wincing at the sound of the zipper and casting a glance at the Master, who was lying in another bag just in front of the door.

'How thoughtful of him,' Jonah almost snorted. Seeing the other man frown slightly as if he read his thoughts even in sleep, Jonah swallowed and turned away, facing the ceiling. While his body settled into a seemingly relaxed state, his mind was anything but.

Everything started because of those stupid drugs. No, not everything, Jonah thought a moment later with some self recrimination. He could've stopped taking them. He could've stayed at the detox center, but he'd chosen to run. And he was still running when the Master came and gave him what he wanted. A feeling of power. A feeling of purpose. Pity that his sole purpose was taking life.

It looked like the right thing to do. When the drug coursed through his body and that voice spoke to him with something akin to admiration, Jonah for the first time felt like someone. A real person, an important person. And the Master gave him the reason. The fate, the ritual... the meaning of 'family'.

But that feeling was now gone and even when Jonah got his dose of crystal meth, the feeling hadn't returned. Not the one he really wanted. Because even if he'd felt power at the first kill, the feeling that just became stronger when they killed the other guy, he'd lost the 'purpose'.

It suddenly wasn't about the ritual, about getting the better life and all that crap that brought him there. It was about orders. Not just the orders the Master issued, but the orders the Master accepted from someone else.

Tonight, Jonah's eyes finally opened. And he didn't like what he saw, not at all. Because the Master wasn't the one in charge. Because he wasn't a Master at all. Jonah didn't know the name of the man sleeping next to him, but he knew what he was…he was a killer.

So, lying on the floor of the small office within the confines of the warehouse, he decided that it was time to move on. He would have to wait for the best chance. Then he would run.

-xXxXx-

There was one person who wasn't having trouble sleeping, quite the opposite. He couldn't wake up. At first the dream was just that - a dream. But Travis soon realized that what he was seeing were more like memories than his own fantasy playing tricks on him. In those dreams, his wife Jamie was still alive. She was still breathing and smiling at him, sitting behind the table and enjoying breakfast. While Travis was just sitting on the chair, stunned, Jamie kept talking. And Travis suddenly knew that he'dheard those words before.

"I think I'm on to something, Trav," Jamie said and smiled at him with one of her most beautiful smiles, one that made Travis want to cry. He knew he would never see it again.

"Yesterday I talked to Howard, and today I am planning on meeting up with Kyle and Elli. I had to make sure they'll go into it with me, or not."

"And what are you getting into, exactly?" Travis heard himself ask, sounding as if he wasn't paying attention. And he wasn't, not really. He was too busy reading the papers that morning to pay attention to his wife. She knew it, of course, but she still answered him.

"I'm not sure. But it's bigI'll tell you about it, once I have all the facts. You won't believe it, Trav," she added with gleaming eyes and when Travis looked up from his papers, he really couldn't believe it. She was sitting before him, the wound on her forehead as fresh as when he saw her on that steel slab in the autopsy. This time, Travis had no trouble waking up, not at all.

It took him several minutes to recognize his surroundings. Then he spent two more minutes trying to brush away the concerned stares of his two room mates, who were woken up by his scream.

What took him the longest time though was to convince the doctor to let him leave the hospital. By the time Nick Stokes pulled out of the CSI's parking lot, Travis was signing his AMA papers. He too had a job to do.


	11. Chapter 11

"Look, I know it's already aftervisiting hours, but this is ridiculous," Nick said indignantly when the nurse at the desk stopped him mid-stride on his way to Travis' room. He was trying to tell her it wouldbe only for a minute, he even pulled out his ID stating he worked as a CSI, but to no avail. The nurse kept insisting that he wasn't allowed to enter the room and should leave. She offered no explanation, until she finally grew just as exasperated as Nick.

"You don't understand, Mister! You can't see Mr. Travis Andrews because he is no longer our patient. Now if you would be so kind and leave before I call secur…"

"W-wait!" Nick stammered and stopped the nurse in the middle of the word. "Travis left? When? Why the hell didn't you tell me before threatening to call security?"

For once the nurse was lost for words and stayed silent, blinking at Nick a little guiltily, realizing that maybe she could be in trouble.

"I am sorry sir, but Travis asked me for help."

"What kind of help? And you know Travis?" Nick was becoming more and more confused, which didn't serve well with his thinning patience.

"Um...I knew his wife, Jamie. I just heard what happened to her and..." The nurse suddenly looked on the verge of tears and Nick almost winced when she sniffled. But then her professionalism won over and she looked up, straight into Nick's eyes. "I am sorry, but Mr. Andrews wanted to be left alone and thought that the police would let him be a little while longer if they thought he was still in the hospital. I was supposed to fend off anyone wanting to talk to him until morning, when my shift ends."

Nick cursed then shot an apologetic smile to the nurse passing by and the patient she was pushing in a wheelchair.

"I thought the doctor wanted to keep him for few days," Nick muttered and shook his head in frustration. "That stubborn son of a…" he stopped himself then looked back at the nervous nurse.

"Let me guess. He left against the doctor's advice, right?"

"Yes, he signed the AMA papers. He wasn't too bad though...a few broken ribs and some bruises. The worst was the concussion, but the neuro checks came back good. Look, I know the doctor wasn't happy to let him go, but Travis was going straight home. I even called him a cab."

Nick perked up a little hearing this. Maybe Travis really just wanted to sleep in his own bed and he was making a fuss over nothing.

"Is he in trouble?"

"I hope not," Nick said, then with a curt nod to the nurse he turned and made a hasty retreat. He wouldn't be able to go home and rest without making sure that Travis was indeed in his house.

-xXxXx-

Someone jabbed him in the ribs and Jonah went to slap the offending hand away when he realized he couldn't move. The jabbing continued with a sound that was something akin to snickering and Jonah felt a feeling of panic rising when all of his movement was halted by something enshrouding his whole body. That was it. The Master had decided to get rid of him while he slept and had wrapped him up in a carpet. The jabbing he felt was probably the Master trying to find out if he was awake.

'Maybe I should pretend to still be asleep,' Jonah thought, but then something slid off his face and the light hit his eyelids. With a grunt, his eyes popped open, and for a second he was blinded.

Jonah blinked then started wildly squirming, trying to escape his confinement, when an unexpected sound reached his ears and made him freeze. It was laughter. Someone was getting a lot of enjoyment out of his misery, and even though thevoice belonged to the Master, Jonah didn't detect any threat coming from it. Dragging in a deep breath, he finally managed to take a look around and couldn't believe his stupid luck. Unable to hide a groan, Jonah bumped his head against the floor, then shot a pleading look at the Master, who was still smirking but thankfully not openly laughing any more.

"I see you're finally awake," the man said, standing still, arms crossed on the chest like an amused parent. Well, Jonah wasn't amused. During his sleep he'd managed to somehow get tangled inside his ownsleeping bag. Add in that the jacket he'd used as a pillow when he lay down was now partially covering his head, he wondered just how fitful his sleep had really been.

"Help me out," he grumbled and shook his head, the jacket finally sliding down to the floor.

"The magic word?" the Master asked and Jonah blinked in confusion until it hit him. Then with a groan he added a disgruntled "Please" and onlythen did the Master lean down and help him up. While Jonah was trying to brush the dust from the floor out of his hair, the smirk on the Master's face changed into a frown and the younger man instantly felt the coldness in his stomach. Fun time was obviously over. As if to confirm his fears, the Master pulled the ritual knife from the special case that was hidden in the table and fastened the scabbard at his belt.

Jonah swallowed and looked away, hoping that the Master didn't notice the fear in his eyes. He wasn't prepared to do this, not anymore. Not for the false ideals the man put inside his head, not for the drugs. Once again the urge to run threatened to overcome his senses. Hardly thinking, he made his way to the door and turned the knob, when the voice stopped him.

"Where are you going?" the amusement from a few minutes earlier was totally gone, the only thing left was the steely determination to reach the goal.

"I have to go...to the john," Jonah replied, praying that his voice didn't sound as shaky as he felt.

"Don't take too long, we have a job to do." The younger man nodded and was already half out the door when the Master stopped him once again.

"Yeah?" he turned, one hand reaching behind his back where he had his own knife hidden, only to shoot out and catch the small package the Master tossed him.

"Take it before we leave. I need you concentrated."

Jonah looked down at the small bag of Crystal Meth in his hand and swallowed. He had to leave, that was sure. He couldn't take much more of this nerve wracking situation. He just wasn't sure that now was the right time to do it.

-xXxXx-

"It has to be here," Travis mumbled as he awkwardly searched through another drawer. He knew that the cops had already looked through his and Jamie's things, but he was sure that after finding her diary they wouldn't have paid much attention to the small phone book where Jamie kept all of her contacts names along with their numbers. Finally, after the third drawer fell to the floor with a loud thud, he found what he was looking for. The tiny black book held all he needed. Picking it up from the floor was the hardest feat, when his whole body cried out in protest and Travis' face scrunched up in pain, his ribs and head being the biggest source. He took a few harsh breaths, grabbed the book and straightened up, gasping from the effort and brushing the sweat off his face. After a minute of just leaning against the wall and pulling together all the energy he could muster, silently berating himself for the stupid idea of leaving the hospital in the first place, he opened the tiny book and flippedthrough it, his eyes searching for the right name.

He found it under the J's – his wife had put all of her acquaintancesfrom the jury there and Travis' finger jabbed into the name he remembered from his dream.

Basking in this small victory, he brought out the big phone book they had under the phone and started searching until he found a listing with the right name. Under it was an address, exactly what he was looking for. Scribbling it down on the first scrap of paper he found, he rushed past the mess on the floor, only pausing to retrieve a hunting knife from his room. Then he left the house without a backward look, not even locking the door. He limped to the cab that was still waiting patiently, put another bill into the driver's hand and gave him directions. The cab drove out and down the street and it was just turning the corner, when another car pulled up to Travis' yard.

Nick wasn't a happy guy when he got out of the car. He walked stiffly to the front door, already preparing to tell Travis what a stupid idiot he was for leaving the hospital like that. He knocked on the door and instantly, all thoughts left his mind. The door slightly opened at his touch and Nick swallowed. Could it be that the Master somehow realised that Travis wasn't killed in the crash? Maybe they had it all wrong, and Travis was the target all along...Nick's mind was rushing through all the possibilities of finding his friend dead, or a killer roaming the house. He instinctively pulled out his gun, suddenly grateful that he had picked up his spare gun while his usual weapon was still in the evidence locker.

His head brushed lightly against the doorframe, as he edged the door gently open. With a racing heart and wide open eyes, Nick entered the house, gun at the ready. He instantly noticed the mess on the floor and knew it wasn't Warrick or Grissom who'd left it likethat. That left only the killer or Travis. Nick slowly walked through the hall and to the kitchen. He was half prepared to see the body of his friend with a knife in his back, laying face down in a pool of his own blood, but the floor was clean as was the kitchen. No signs of a fight. With a frown, Nick checked out all the rooms on the ground floor and found no other sign of trespassing than the mess in the hall and Jamie's study. He was starting to suspect that the mess was actually created by Travis and that he was maybe losing valuable time, but he still had to check out the first floor, losing more time. When he finally decided that the house was indeed clear, he quickly returned to the mess and started looking around. What could Travis have been looking for?

There were some note books, paper clips and the usual stuff you got in your mail. Then his eyes fastened on the big phone book, opened in the middle of it all and with a crawling feeling in his stomach he looked at the page it was opened on. His eyes slid down the columns and stopped on one name. He knew that name! He'd seen it only a few hours ago in the conference room, on the files Nick himself brought there. Closing his eyes for a moment, he debated in his own mind.

'Not even Travis could be that stupid,' he thought, then with a curse opened his eyes and turned on his heels, a silent reply to his own question.

Nick rushed to the car, scrambling inside and starting the engine, hoping that he wouldn't be slowed down by the traffic. He was several blocks away before he remembered that it would be wise to warn Brass about the incoming trouble. He pulled out his cell, the one he'd retrieved from evidence, not sure why Warrick took it there in the first place, and dialed the detective's number. He heard a familiar beep that warned him of a low battery and cursed, hoping it would last long enough.

"Brass," came the familiar voice and Nick let out a breath. The detective sounded more bored than angry, that meant that Travis hadn't appeared yet.

"Hey Jim, it's me, Nick. Listen, Travis hasleft the hospital and he's on his way to…" Nick heard the annoying beep once again, this time much longer and he unconsciously squeezed the cell harder. "to you," he finished, but already knew that it didn't reach the other end.

"Jim?" he still asked, then pulled the cell away from his ear and after a short glance at the dead display threw the device at the passenger seat. He could only hope that Jim figured out what he wanted to say and that if Travismade an appearance, the older cop won't start shooting first, then asking questions. Not entirely sure he wouldn't shoot Travis himself once he found him, Nick pushed down on the gas pedal and the car accelerated.

-xXxXx-

Jim Brass was bored. He felt he was too old for this kind of 'inactivity' that the surveillance required. He stood up and stretched out, then started his walk around the house, while Kyle Anders, who was the possible next target, was quietly working in his study on some taxes. His wife and two kids were already on their way to Kyle's mother who lived in California. He had taken it quite well when the police knocked on his door and informed him about the threat. He'd told his wife it would be best if they all left for a few days, when he found out that both Jamie and Howard were killed. But in the end, he stayed, because the detective assured him he'dbe safe. The cop in the house and several others in the surveillance van parked down the street helped Kyle Anders to believe it and relax enough to work.

Jim Brass was just sipping some cold water when his phone started ringing. He fumbled a moment to find it, putting the glass down as he reached into his pocket and took the call. He barked out his name and waited, hoping that it wasn't any bad news. He was surprised to hear Nick, and even more when he learned that Travis hadleft the hospital. Jim Brass didn't take a liking to the man in the first place and the longer he knew him, the more trouble Travis caused. His attention sharpened when Nick started saying where Travis was headed and he was startled by the sudden way Nick was cut off in the middle.

"Nick?" he called into the phone then looked at the display, as if trying to discern if it was his own phone that hadbetrayed him. When he realised his cell was okay, he dialed Nick's number, only to listen to the mechanical voicesay that the number he dialed was out of reach.

"Damn it," he cursed and shook his head, frustrated. Travis on the run was a bad thing, but the fact that Nick was on his trail without a way to call for back-up was bothering him more. He was about to call the station and put out an APB on one Travis Andrews when he saw a commotion on the front lawn, his radio crackled to life and then all hell broke lose.

xxxxxxxxx

When the radio came to life, Brass was already half-way to the door, his radio in hand and shouting questions to his men.

"What's going on?" Kyle Anders appeared in the hall and the detective turned towardhim.

"Go back to your study and don't leave the room," he barked at the startled man, then without another glance went out the door to the front lawn where he could already see two of his men struggling with a third one. Whoever this man was, he was quickly losing the fight. The detective could see him weakening, as his struggles grew slower and his stamina deserted him. Brass aimed the gun at the scrambled trio and shook his head in annoyance, fighting the urge to shoot simply to relieve his pugnacious mood. He was ready though and that made him even more startled when he finally saw the face of the attacker.

"Stop it!" he barked, and all went still.

-xXxXx-

He walked across the grass, one hand circled around his tender ribs, the other reaching into his pocket for the knife. He wasn't sure why he'd done it, maybe the darkness and silence made him feel just a tad apprehensive. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and he drew the knife, holding it in a defensive position in front of him while turning around in a circle, trying to pierce the darkness with eyes gone narrow with wariness. The blade caught the light from a distant streetlight, and winked menacingly in the gloom. Suddenly, he heard a double warning to drop the knife and he turned, startled, instinctively trying to face the enemy and waving the knife in an attempt to deter them.

He could just make out two gun barrels pointed at him, held in the unwavering hands of men dressed in dark clothes. Frantically trying to keep both of the widely spaced men in his line of sight, he looked away from one of them just long enough, and the shadowy figure lunged at him, the knife was kicked out of his hand and he barely managed to dodge the hand that undoubtedly meant harm.

What happened next was all a flurry of action, swift kicks pulling the legs out from under him and sending him sprawling to the ground, the delicate state of his ribs hindering his attempts at escape. There was a lot of shouting and he realized that he was probably screaming too when someone's elbow connected with his chest. He still fought back, his broad shoulders and well muscled figure balancing out his injuries and allowing him to briefly hold his own against his attackers. He didn't know who they were. They were simply two men trying to immobilize him, two men that could've easily been the Master and that boy who killed his wife. So he fought, even if his breathing was labored, his heart pounded, and all he saw was a blur of dark clothes. Finally, another well placed hit made him curl up into a ball, gasping for air, just as another person entered the combat scene.

"Stop it!" An angry voice shouted and all went still, even his attackers froze in mid motion and something in his head connected. He knew who the voice belonged to.

"That's not the Master or Jonah," Jim Brass raspedwith slight disgust and a great amount of anger.

"But he had a knife, detective," on of the man spoke in defense of his actions.

"Yeah well, this is just some stupid idiot whose ass should've been still in Desert Palms. Get off him Parker, before you break the last of his ribs."

He hadn't realised how utterly motionless the two men had rendered him until they were gone, and now that the circulation was returning to all of his limbs, Travis started feeling all the bruises on top of other bruises and he groaned, just managing to fight the urge to whimper.

"Serves you right, Travis," the detective spat while his men shot him confused looks. "Parker, go back to the surveillance car. Dustin, you take this idiot back to the hospital…and make sure the doctor understands that I want to find him there in the morning. If necessary, put a guard at his room."

"Y-you can't do that," Travis started to protest as Brass seemed to dismiss him, then realised his mistake when the detective turned back to him, his eyes glinting with anger.

"You don't realise what could've happened, do you, Travis?" he hissed with rage as he grabbed the neck of Travis' shirt and ignoring the pained grimace, pulled him closer. "Any one of my men could've just shot you down after the first warning left their mouth and you didn't surrender. I could've killed you because you threatened my men. And tell me, Travis, do you really think I would enjoy telling Nick that I had to kill you?"

"N-no," Travis stuttered, feeling unable to protest because of the pain in his chest, and because he could literally feel the strength of the disdain rolling from the detective.

"Damn right!" Brass replied, still clutching at Travis' shirt as if the man was ready to boltHe began punctuating his sentences with shakes that made Travis' knees start to quiver and his mouth to twitch.

"AndI'll tell you another thing, Travis. You already put two of my friends into danger by you wanting to play knows you left the hospital and is now looking for you, but his cell is dead and I can't reach him. Let me tell you, I amnothappy about that. So if you try anything like leaving the hospital without me knowing about it again, the next place your ass will sit inwillbe a ?"

"Y-yes," Travis stammered, his stomach churning in reaction.

The detective let go of his shirt with a final shake and without a backward glance spoke to the waiting detective.

"Take him away, Dustin."

Not waiting for the 'yes sir,' he knew was coming, Brass stalked off back to the house.

He knew that he should be asking questions, chiefly 'How and why did you come here?' But he also knew that if he'd looked at Travis' face a minute longer, he would either pat the man's back with a 'sorry, I understood how you feel, I would do the same,' or land a punch on him for once again endangering himself as well as others. He needed to calm down, needed to let Nick know that Travis was back in the hospital. He needed to make sure that Kyle Anders was safe and foremost, he needed to catch the Master. But even as he entered the house, he knew it wouldn't be that simple.

He felt the draft that practically pulled closed the front door. He knew that somewhere in the house, a door or a window must be open. The cop in him reacted to the simple feel of the draft by pulling out a gun and entering the kitchen where the only other door leading outside was located. He saw a man standing atop a fallen form, and his gun wavered in the air, the hand clutching it aiming at the perpetrator, but not finishing the move.

The detective didn't even have time to open his mouth and say 'freeze', before he sensed the other presence behind his back. He barely had time for his ears to register the rustling of clothes and someone's heavy breathing on his neck, when just like in a clichéd movie, a pan swished through the air and landed hard on the detective's head. The gun clattered from his now limp hand and Brass's unconscious body hit the ground.

-xXxXx-

Kyle Anders wasn't a coward but even he was startled by the fight on his front lawn. He watched it from the window, secretly hoping that the cops would use their guns and kill the man that wanted his own death. Kyle wasn't a bad man, but thinking about his family, what would've happened if his kids and wife were still in the house, he felt a surge of hate toward the man that was now lying on the ground, immobilized. So he of course watched with a growing frown when the detective that was supposed to guard him simply turned back to the house, ignoring the bad guy. Only when the man foolishly spoke and the detective grabbed his shirt, did Kyle let himself relax. God, but he needed a drink. He turned away from the window, knowing that the cops would handle the situation after all and walked toward the bar to pour himself something strong. He was already planning on calling his wife but wanted to first hear the details from the detective, make sure that the danger was definitely over.

A swish of hot air hit his face and he heard the familiar creakof the kitchen door. With a frown he turned, thinking it was stupid for the detective to come through the back when he could've just as easily used the front door. Who he saw though was definitely no cop and the half full glass of the good ten year old Scotch fell from his hand and splattered on the thick carpet, making almost no sound.

"Who-" was all Kyle got through his clenched throat when a gun flickered and a head shook in warning.

"Not a sound," the man spoke in a dangerous whisper and for a second Kyle fought the urge to open his mouth and start to scream, just so he could defy him. But the urge lasted only so long, and he knew that no sound would leave his throat – ever again.

Kyle backed away, into the wall. His hand blindly groped for something that could be used as a weapon, knocking several things off the shelves, dismissing them all as useless until his hand hit a heavy, bronze statue his older son won in a competition He grabbed at it and knowing well that it would be his only chance, he threw it at the man then without waiting, lunged for the front door, knowing he could find help there.

He didn't see the man duck just in time, so the statue barely hit his shoulder, bouncing off without more than making a bruise. He didn't see the other man, much younger, blocking his path to the door, until he rammed into him, sending them both to the ground, in a tangle of hard elbows and fists. Kyle wasn't a fighter, but he wanted to survive. He managed to get off several hits before the youngster started defending himself and even then it felt as if he wasn't really fighting. Kylealmost felt a bit of triumph as the man under him tried to hit him in the face but crazily missed, but the smile left his face when an arm wrapped around his neck in a chokehold and he was hauled off toward the kitchen. He thought he heard a door open and maybe he felt the draft as he was dragged out of the house, but he couldn't be sure. There wasn't enough air to keep his brain working and he fell into darkness.

-xXxXx-

"Damn it," Nick cursed and hit the wheel. He was lost, driving up the streets, not sure which turn to take. He knew the street Kyle Anders was living on because a few months ago he and Warrick were nearby, investigating a suspicious death that turned out to be suicide. Even then, they'd had trouble finding the right house, because the street ran in a kind of Y shape and they'd ended up on the street that led mostly onto the fenced back yards with pools or tennis courts. Passing those same fences now, Nick knew he was on the wrong part of the street, and losing time.

He was still hoping that he'd got it all wrong and that Travis had just decided to take a walk and cool his head a little, when he spotted a man throwing a limp form into the back seat of a car, then quickly slamming the door shut. He slowed his own car to a halt and parked it on the curb, making his form smaller when the other car started up and passed around him.

It was all he could do not to shout when he saw who was behind the wheel and on the shotgun seat. Biting down another curse, Nick's fingers curled around the wheel with such force his knuckles turned white. He waited until the car had driven down the street for a bit, then he made a 180 and started the pursuit.

It was crazy, Nick knew. He should've called Jim and let him handle it, but his cell was of no use. He also couldn't afford the time to pull up at some phone booth or another police car, because then he would loose the Master and he was sure the person Jonah was manhandling into the backseat was the next victim. Nick didn't know if he was already dead, but he had a feeling that the Master wouldn't lose time and effort with a dead body. He had to be in a hurry if he managed to snatch Kyle Anders right out from under Brass' nose. The thought sent a feeling of dread through Nick and he unconsciously pushed on the gas pedal, cutting the distance between him and the Master.

He longed for the chance to turn the car and just get to a phone and learn if the detective was alright, because Nick knew that there was no way in hell Jim would've let the Master escape without a fight. Unless something had gone wrong… And now Nick was the only one who knew where the Master was, and there was no way to let the others know.

Sometimes life really sucked.


	12. Chapter 12

Grissom walked up to the ambulance that was parked on the driveway of Kyle Anders house, the frown on his face deepening when he saw the detective perched on the gurney in the back of the van, being attended by a younger medic. Jim Brass was grimacing and silently seething, accepting the medic's care with gritted teeth as his head wound was cleaned and bandaged.

"Did you get hold of Nick?" Jim's first question when he saw Grissom surprised the scientist.

"No. Why? I thought it was Kyle Anders who was missing," Grissom's eyebrows rose in questioning surprise.

"Yeah, well, you don't need to remind me what a stupid idiot I am. I should've put a guard at Travis' door right away and none of this would've ha- Ouch!" The detective turned a glare on the medic, who didn't look too happy either.

"I am sorry, sir, but this looks that it will need several stitches. You should also be checked out at the Emergency Room. Concussion is nothing to mess with."

"I told you already that I don't have time to…"

"I think Mr." Grissom glanced at the medic's ID, then back at Brass, "Mr. Porter is right, Jim. You should get yourself checked out."

The detective scowled at Grissom, but the CSI pointedly ignored the glare and shot a glance toward the house and then at the road where another car pulled up, this time bringing Warrick and Sara.

"I don't know if it was dumb luck or if Travis was a decoy, I don't even know if Kyle was still alive when the Master took him, but why else would he do it?" Brass spoke, ignoring the pen light that was currently shining into his eyes.

"He will want to go with his original plan and performit like a ritual murder. He will kill Kyle by fire, then go after the fourth victim. I guess that he plans on killing Jonah then, arranging it like a suicide."

"But we already know he's a hired gun and that he's acting on Fedderson's orders."

"Yeah, well, knowing it and proving it are two different things, Jim. You said it yourself once, without evidence, there's no case." The two men fell silent for a moment, watching the CSI's approach. Both Warrick and Sara looked grim when they saw the detective's hunched form.

"Hey, Jim, you okay?" Warrick asked as soon as they were near enough and Brass shot him a light grin.

"Fantastic. And how was your day, guys?" Jim asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm and both Warrick and Sara shot a questioning look at Grissom, who just gave them one of his patented half shrugs.

"Were any of the cameras monitoring the back yard of the house?" Grissom asked thoughtfully and Jim was back in the cop mode.

"Yeah, we put one at the lamp post near the back entrance. It's taking in the kitchen door and a good part of the yard. Parker!" The detective barked at the by passing cop, startling everyone.

"Yes sir?" Parker came up to the ambulance and looked questioningly at Brass, knowing well that the man was in a bad mood. He wasn't too happy either. Letting a suspect just take the victim was bad enough, but a clobbered Jim Brass with a headache was an ingredient nearly guaranteed to give anyone nightmares.

"Did you look at the footage from the backyard camera?"

"Partly Sir," Parker hedged, suddenly nervous.

"What does that mean?" Brass frowned and slid off the stretcher he was sitting on, easing himself to the ground and taking a few wobbly steps toward the cop.

"Jim, I think you should…" 'sit down', was what Grissom was planning to say, but he paused when Brass shot him a warning look.

"Parker?"

"Uhm, the suspect turned the camera so that it was facing the street rather than the house. We don't have any clear imagesof any of the attackers, sir, though we got a glimpse of their car and how they manhandled the victim to the car."

"Did you get the license plate?"

"No, sir," Parker replied with a flinch, "the camera had a bad angle."

"Let me take a look at that, Parker, maybe I will notice something," Sara spoke up before Jim could react and after a curt nod from the detective, Parker led her to the surveillance van. Warrick cleared his throat and shuffled his feet, berating himself for not coming up with that instead of Sara. He also knew how bad tempered the detective could be when a case went wrong, never mind the added injury.

"Look, if you don't have anything else, I should get started at the house," Warrick hopefully turned to Grissom and gota grim nod, which he accepted with a smile.

"Take care of the head, Jim," Warrick quipped before making a hasty retreat, leaving Grissom to the ungrateful task of persuading Jim Brass to leave the scene and get checked out at the hospital. Grissom let out a heavy sigh and turned to Jim, only to find him leaning hard against the side of the ambulance, and the paramedic grabbing his arm to steer him to the stretcher.

"Warrick is right, Jim. Get checked out at the hospital, while we assess the scene. There's not much you can do in this condition, anyway."

"Just... don't take me to the Desert Palms," Brass muttered as he lay down, the sudden bout of dizziness over-riding any protest he might have made.

"Why not?" Grissom asked, puzzled.

"'Cause if I get too close to Nicky's friend Travis, I won't be responsible for my actions," Brass grunted, then closed his eyes.

Grissom's eyebrows went up and he shook his head, then patting the detective's knee, he turned away from the prone man and nodded to the paramedic.

"Just take him there, his bark is worse than his bite," he said with a half smile as the paramedic closed the rear doors.

He was just about to enter the house when Sara caught up with him looking worried, almost to the point of panic.

"You need to see this, Gris," she said and ushered him toward the van.

"Have you managed to get the license plate?" he asked, confused by her reactions, but she just shook her head and pointed at one of the monitors. Like Parker had said before, the angle was a little off, the camera turned more toward the sky than at the street, but he could still see the top of the parked cars on the street behind the fence. He also saw movement as both the Master and Jonah came to their car, the unconscious victim being hauled between them. Grissom watched as their car sped away, then looked at Sara with a frown.

"Watch it again, this time look at the other car in the left corner," she explained, while turning the tape back a little.

Grissom saw the dark car, but it was hard to identify the type with only the top half visible. He couldn't see the driver, although he had a feeling he would get his chance. And he was right... just as the Master drove off, the car started and came more into the camera's view. But it was only when the car did a 180 that Grissom spotted the face of the driver and recognized him as one Nicholas Stokes.

-xXxXx-

Nick followed the car with a growing sense of dread as he realised they were leaving the more populated areas and driving toward the poorer parts of Las Vegas, with old, cheap apartment blocks where no one with any brains walked the streets at that time of the night. He passed several hookers standing on the sidewalk and waving at him, a guy that looked something like a pimp or a drug dealer, possibly both, and a few homeless people who were rummaging through the bins. Not a pretty picture of the city, and certainly no one to ask for help.

But as much as Nick hated the image of this area, he also realised that even those 'bad guys' seemed to be scarce and he knew why. The whole block was about to be demolished in the following weeks, thanks to the Mayor's plan on making the city look better. Nick didn't know what the mayor planned to build there, but he was sure it wouldn'tbe apartments for those with lower incomes.

Putting those thoughts aside, Nick concentrated on his main goal, and that was following the Master and his victim without being spotted. It was becoming harder and harder, because the area was looking deserted and there were less cars on the road as each mile passed. He couldn't drive on much longer without being spotted, but he also couldn't stop. Nick really reconsidered the option of driving without lights. He knew that he was heading into trouble, and that when Grissom found out he would probably get fired, if not worse. He didn't even want to imagine what Warrick or Brass would do... Nick grimaced at the thoughts as he slowed down, seeing that the distance between him and the Master's car had decreased. He didn't need to be so close, especially if the streets were almost empty.

Nick knew what he was doing was stupid. He should've stopped at the firstpolice car he saw and radioed to Brass, giving him the license plate number and the description of the car. They would've still had a better chance of catching the Master than now.

'Just what the hell are you planning to do, Nicky?' He could practically hear Brass asking the question, and shook his head in silent reply.

'Going gung ho and playing hero? Maybe get yourself killed?'

"I will just follow them, then call for help," Nick answered the silent questions verbally, his voice echoing eerily in the silence of the car. "Nothing else," he added uncertainly, wanting it to be true. He briefly contemplated stopping at the telephone booth he'd just driven past, but he saw the master's car was slowing down and turning around the corner. Feeling like maybe they could be at the end of the trail, he followed, the lights turned off and his heart beating much faster than it should.

-xXxXx-

The door looked inviting. All he had to do was reach out and open it, then jump and roll on the road. He could practically feel the burning of the asphalt on his back and knees as he uncurled and started running, away from the car, away from Master, from the death he knew was coming. But it was all just wishful thinking. One that made his body tense in preparation, the hand grip the door handle.

He was planning an escape, but taking too long and now it was too late. The streets were empty and he knew that if he should get out of the car, the Master would either run him over, or simply shoot him. Jonah knew he was capable of it; the Master was a good shot And there was no one to notice it, to call for help or to stop it happening. So he stayed in his seat, eyes set on the road while the Master drove, trying hard to ignore the man lying on the back seat.

Funny thing was that Jonah wasn't scared of killing that man. Hell, he stabbed a woman, then drowned her, feeling her pulse beneath his fingers and it didn't make him sick or sad. True, he was drugged up to his gills at the time, but that wasn't much different to right now. The dose the Master had given him was enough to keep his brain working, his reflexes fast and precise, but his emotions dulled.

Andthere was the problem. His brain was working over time, and he was starting to come to the conclusion that he didn't want to be a killer anymore. It was just too risky a business, especially when he wasn't even paid for it. And upon this thought came the realisation and with that the anger.

Jonah now knew the Master wasn't killing for the reasons he'd told him. It didn't serve a higher purpose; it didn't bring Jonah any chance in getting a better life, either here or on the other side. For the Master, it was just business. He was paid for it, and he moved on. That left Jonah with a question that was making him sweat over the answer. What would happen to him when the fourth victim died?

He didn't need to be a brain surgeon to put it together, not with the crystal meth still circling his system.

The car slowed down to a stop and Jonah looked up, startled when a hand smacked his shoulder.

"Quit with the day dreaming and let's finish this. You take the guy, I will take the rest."

"But where…" Jonah started asking, then took a look outside. They were parked at an old three storey apartment house. It looked empty and just about ready to collapse, the notice nailed to the front door warning that the building was unstable. The additional information about the planned demolition next week was of little reassurance.

"Oh. Isn't it a bit dangerous to go in here?" Jonah asked even as he pulled the still unconscious body from the back seat, hauling him up in a fireman's carry.

The Master snorted and opened the trunk, pulling out a big can. Jonah shot him a wide look when he realised what was inside, but didn't say a word when he saw the cold eyes looking at him, assessing. He just nodded and started into the house, the victim a silent weighton his shoulders.

-xXxXx-

He really wanted to wait for help. The telephone booth was just behind the corner and he was sure that the help would arrive within fifteen minutes. But then he saw the limp body hauled out of the car and the Master pulling a red can from the trunk. It took him several seconds to realise what he would do with that can, but when it hit him, it was like being hit by a train. The third element on Grissom's list was fire. The can probably held gasoline or other fire accelerant. It didn't need a genius to add up and Nick knew what he had to do. He waited until the three forms vanished in the house, then got out of his car and ran to the booth as fast as his legs and the wound in his side allowed, all the time praying that the phone was working.

It was a true miracle when he found the receiver dangling at the end of its cord, thankfully still attached. With a gasp he put the receiver back in the cradle then took it up, thanking all the gods when he heard a signal. Not finding any quarters, he had to dial 911. Spitting out most of the facts, he barely waited for the operator to confirm that the closest patrol was a good fifteen minutes away before he hung up and stumbled back to his car, leaning against it and clutching at his throbbing side, for a moment just gasping for breath. When he felt he could breathe again and the black spots had vanished from his vision, he looked at his watch. Fifteen minutes.

Enough time to kill a person.

Enough time to burn a steak.

In that moment he knew he would act stupidly. He would try to play a hero and probably get killed, but it didn't matter. Because there was no way that Nick would sit in his car and wait for help to arrive while somewhere inside that building, a man was being burned alive.

xxxxxxxxx

He didn't want to die.

The thought ran through his head even before he truly realised what was going on. Still on the edge of unconsciousness, he felt his body being hauled up stairs, then unceremoniously being dumped on a chair. He immediatelystarted sliding off of it, his body not his own to control, his limbs feeling like lead. Before he fell to the floor, a pair of hands grabbed him and pushed him back up into the chair, for a moment keeping him upright, while another set of hands swiftly secured his arms and legs to the chair with tape.

Kyle's head lolled to the side and his eyes became open slits, but all he saw was darkness. He blinked confusedly, struggling to make out his surroundings when a beam of light hit his eyes and he jerked, startled.

"I see our sacrifice is awake," a voice spoke with a soft snort and Kyle opened his mouth to speak when a hand appeared from the darkness and slapped more tape over his mouth, effectively stopping his protest before he could even form it. Kyle gave an angry and scared cry but it came out sounding more like the whine of a child than a real scream, and that made the panic inside him grow.

The light vanished from his face and the beam was turned toward something out of his sight. He tried to turn and look; he wanted to know what was going on, but at the same time he fervently prayed to be unconscious again, to have that darkness wrap around him and erase all the fears.

"H...how do you want to do this, Master?" a young voice asked from behind him and Kyle flinched, once again startled by the sound as well as the other presence. He couldn't clearly remember what happened in the kitchen, but the detective that came to his house warned him about two suspects. At least that information was right, though for all Kyle knew, there could've been a whole gang lurking in the darkness and he would never know. When the detective had initially come, he'd at first felt apprehensive. Then, when he was assured that he would be guarded and that nothing could get in the house without them knowing, Kyle felt relief. Why not? The police were here, keeping him safe, while his family was on their way to relatives. Sure, he wanted to go with them, just leave the city until that murderer was caught. But then he got a chance to participate, to even help the cops, and something inside him said 'Do it, Kyle.' Why the hell not? He was safe.

That was what he'd thought several hours ago. Now he could only kick himself for his stupid naivety. He swore several times, albeit it came out just as a panicked mumbling and he was back in the dark room, bound to a char and without a way to communicate with his captors.

Kyle clenched his fists in silent rage and lifted his head. He tried to listen to what his captors were planning, but it was too late for that to be of much use he realised, when his body was once again swathed in the light from the high powered flashlight, and the sound of the foot steps on the wooden floor echoed in his mind.

"Open the can, Jonah." The order floated through the silence and Kyle frowned in confusion, until his nostrils were hit by the familiar stench of gasoline. In that moment, all color left his face and he went slack with shock. They were planning to burn him!

'I will burn alive!' echoed in his head and all he could think about was the image he once saw on TV; where a guy had set himself on fire in a protest against something that Kyle had thought pointless at the time. He still saw that man engulfed in flames, running around frenziedly until he fell to the ground…where he lay writhing and twitching, giving out inarticulate sounds of pain and agony. His mental picture changed, remembering how he'd burned himself once on a hot stove and how it hurt, even though it was just his finger. He couldn't even imagine the pain...

Something inside him broke loose, and Kyle started struggling. He clenched his fists and tried to kick out with his legs, all the while trying to scream around the gag in his mouth, but the tape didn't allow for much motion and he was simply left to exhaust himself, similar to parents ignoring a child throwing a tantrum.

"You know this won't help you a bit," the voice Kyle identified as the Master filtered through the darkness,sounding almost bored, a fact that only served to fuel his anger and he resumed his fight with the bonds. He could feel the one on his left wrist stretching and that gave him hope, which was instantly crushed.

"Jonah, use moretape, I don't want him pulling free once we start the barbeque," the master said, laughing when Kyle flinched at the words. Jonah nervously pulled out the tape and leaned over the victim, working on his hands. He didn't realise just how close he was, until he heard the panicked breath near his ear. Glancing upwards, Jonah looked straight into Kyle's eyes and he paused, fascinated by the fear he saw there. For a moment he felt the connection between them, felt those eyes pray for help or curse to death. For a moment, he was frozen.

Then Kyle's head came down in a sudden move and his forehead connected right with Jonah's nose, sending him stumbling back and grasping the injury in surprise. Jonah finally halted his retreat, and lowered his hand only to see it was covered in blood, and his eyes narrowed.

Kyle only had a second to enjoy this small triumph before he glimpsed the fist heading towards his face and heard the angry curse before thankfully, the world went dark again.

-xXxXx-

"Damn, I think it's broken," Jonah complained, one hand trying to stop the blood flow, the other stretching, the knuckles still sore from the hit.

"It's your own fault," the master said unsympathetically. "Next time maybe you'll be more careful." He smirked, looking from the victim to Jonah, then at the blood that was dripping on the floor. 'Another bit of evidence to lead the cops away from me,' he thought smugly.

Jonah threw him an annoyed glare, but didn't comment. It really was his fault, and under any other circumstances he would've probably stabbed the guy already. But this time he understood the fear he saw in those eyes all too well. He felt the same horror when the Master hadtold him just how the third victim was supposed to die, and even now the thought made him sick.

"Well, get on with the show," the master's voice pulled him back to reality and Jonah shuddered.

"Or do you think he's going to spontaneously combust?"

Jonah shook his head and opened the can, having a little trouble with the seal because his fingers were slick from blood. When he managed he looked at the Master and got his permission in a nod. Lifting up the can, Jonah spilled some of the gas on the victim's shirt and was just about to pour the liquid onto his head, when something startled him. He froze with the can in the air, head tilted.

"Did you-" he started but stopped.

"Shut up," the Master hissed. They listened for a moment and heard another bump, much softer this time, but still it meant someone was there. Jonah swallowed and slowly put the canisterdown, looking at the Master, waiting for orders.

"Should I... check it?" he asked in a whisper but got a shake of a head.

"No, I will. You finish this, start the fire," the Master said and bent down, pulling a gun from the holster on his leg. "Don't mess this up!" he warned, before the Master vanished through the doorway.

Jonah counted to ten, then when he was sure it wasn't all just a trick, he turned and without a glance ran to the window. He couldn't do this, he had to get away. Even if it meant that the Master would be after him, he knew that there was little chance he would live another year if he stayed with the man either. And there was still the hope that the person who caused the noise might be a cop and that the Master would be either killed or arrested. Jonah fervently hoped for the first as he reached the window, only to swear in dismay when he saw the bars outside the glass. What kind of an idiot had put bars into the windows?

Finding that there was no escaping that way, Jonah rushed around Kyle to the door through which the Master had left. Taking in a deep breath, he slowly and silently pushed it open. His eyes were mostly used to the darkness by now, and he saw that the hall was empty. Not waiting any longer, Jonah left the prisoner alone, intent on making his own escape.

-xXxXx-

It was the stupid stair. When Nick left his car with only a flashlight and a gun, he knew it was a stupid idea. Once he entered the building, he spent a minute just listening, hardly even breathing. He heard some voices coming from above and he decided to risk discovery by turning on his flashlight for a moment, searching for the stairs. He quickly scanned the lay-out, taking notice of several pulled out floor boards, a wall with a rather big hole in it as if someone had attacked it with a sledge hammer and some cables laying in the middle of the room. Making a mental note of where everything was, he turned off the flashlight and listened once again.

The voices were quiet and sporadic, but he could make out that they were coming from the first floor, so very carefully he headed for the stairs.

Nick didn't know what he would do once he found the Master and Jonah. He didn't have a grand plan of making an arrest all by himself, hell, he'd be lucky if he got out of this without a fight. He just knew that he couldn't stand by and do nothing. So he slowly made his way up the stairs, praying that they wouldn't creak, and won't give away his presence. He made it almost to the top, when his foot slipped into an empty space where the stair should've been and he teetered dangerously as he stumbled. Luckily, one foot was still solidly on the previous step and he managed to catch his balance, barely skinning his shin against the ragged edge of the step above. He let out a grunt, and realized with frustration that the noise had to have been heard and that soon there would be an armed killer heading his way.

Wasting no time, Nick caught the railing and pulled himself up, taking the last two steps in a hurry, not really caring if someone heard. Breathing hard, he turned to look around but saw only darkness and was too wary to use his flashlight at this point. With his heart beating wildly, Nick reached out and groped for the nearest wall to try and orientate himself. Finding the wall with his outstretched hand, he started carefully sidling along it, his gun poised in readiness. He'd taken only a few steps when he heard movement coming from the farther end of the hall and he could swear his heart skipped a beat.

Nick froze for a second, hardly daring to move, but his instincts screamed that he had to. The other person could turn on his flashlight any second and blind him. Though Nick had the chance to do the same, he knew there were two of them and that giving away his position might prove deadly. Snapping out of his immobility, he forced his body to move, groping blindly in the dark until his hand hit a doorknob. He heard the steps coming, the same hesitance and caution, but he didn't wait. He silently turned the doorknob, and pushed the door open, thanking his lucky stars that it didn't make a sound, then slid inside and pushed it nearly closed, leaving only a slit to peek through. He'd only just been in time too he realised, when he saw the beam of light searching the hall.

He pushed himself against the wall and practically stopped breathing when the other person passed by the door, ignoring it. He let out a sigh only when he heard the steps going down the stairs. Now he knew where the Master was. That only left Jonah and Nick was confident he could handle that one. Slowly slipping out of his hiding place, Nick headed toward the door the Master came out of. He was in the middle of the hall when he bumped into something and Nick jumped back, startled. It was only when he heard a surprised gasp that Nick realised he'd collided with a person, but this time it was too late to retreat.

-xXxXx-

The stench made him sick and he fought the urge to vomit. He knew he couldn't, not when something was keeping his mouth shut. It was just an instinct but it kept him from choking. He didn't know why he was gagged or why he couldn't move. He just knew his head hurt and the smell of gasoline made him sick.

'Gasoline? What the hell?'

Then it all came back to him and the earlier confusion was replaced by panic. Gasoline. He had it on his clothes, should've had it on his body too, but he didn't feel wet, maybe just drenched in cold sweat. Something stopped them from pouring that can on him, but what was it?

Maybe help was coming, Kyle hoped, then pushed the thought back. He didn't hear any sirens, hell, he didn't hear anything! Which meant that he was alone. He jerked his hand and felt the tape on his left wrist loosen up a bit. Good, he'd managed to hit that bastard before he could add another layer of tape. Which meant that maybe there was a chance to escape. With this hope came strengthand Kyle started fighting his bonds.

He kicked out, one of his legs getting free and hitting something, knocking it over. Kyle paused in his efforts, frowning, trying to figure out what it was. Only when more of the stench hit his nose did he realise it was the can. He'dknocked it over and now gaswas pouring out, onto the floor, soaking into the wood. Kyle froze, not sure if this was in his favor or not. If the Master came back, there was no gasoline for Kyle, but then, all it took was a spark or a lighter and the floor under his feet would eruptinto flames. With a desperate sob, Kyle resumed his fight for freedom, one thought replaying in his mind like a mantra.

'I don't want to die.'


	13. Chapter 13

Time seemed to freeze, as Nick strained his eyes in the gloom in an effort to see and identify whoever he'd bumped into. His heart was pounding with adrenaline and he was afraid it might be heard by the other person, giving away his position it was that loud in his own ears. Seconds ticked by, neither men moving until suddenly, the tableau was broken by a swishing noise, and the barely felt movement in the air was the only other warning he received.

Instinctively Nick's gun hand went up in defense, but apparently his attacker was closer than he'd thought, and all he managed to do was deflect the blow and fire sliced down his forearm, while the gun was knocked out of his hold, clattering onto the floor.

Nick grunted in pain, stumbling backwards into the wall and dropping his flashlight as his other hand moved to grip his wounded arm.

He sucked in a breath as blood dripped between his fingers and down to the floor. His fingers twitched in an involuntary spasm, and he bit his tongue to keep from crying out aloud, pain mixing with frustration.

His opponent got a knife and Nick just dropped his gun!

'Good one Stokes, way to go.'

He suddenly tensed as the sound of harsh breathing that wasn't his own broke through his senses.

Nick shook his head to clear it, aware of the renewed ache of pulled stitches in his side, and stared in the direction the sounds were coming from, vainly trying to pierce the darkness to see the knife wielder.

The scraping sound of a foot being moved on the wooden floor alerted him that the other man was jockeying for a better position, and Nick pushed aside the pain from his arm and side, and dropped into a defensive crouch. He knew that this time it wouldn't be so easy to counter the blow, he was slowed down by his wounds and his opponent knew he'd got in a lucky strike with the knife.

Suddenly, the clouds that had been obscuring the quarter moon thinned, weak moonlight moved into the hall through the small window atop the stairs, and Nick realized he could make out the shape of a man before him. That's how he saw the coming blow, the reflection of the moonlight caught on the edge of the knife as it headed for Nick's torso.

Nick jumped to the right, closer to his attacker, but out of the weapon's reach and in one smooth move sent the man sprawling on his back by a strong left uppercut to the jaw. Hissing as the contact broke the skin on his knuckles, he shook his hand. The man on the floor was quiet, maybe unconscious, maybe just planning another attack, Nick didn't know. Maybe he was just waiting for his partner in crime to show up and finish Nick off. Either way, he wasn't about to just stand around and wait. Nick went to move and his foot came in contact with something that had him groping around trying to find it. Feeling the flashlight under his hand, Nick turned it on, aiming the beam of light straight to his attackers face.

For a moment he squinted, the sudden brightness just too painful for his sight, but he quickly recovered and took a good look at the guy. Nick's eyebrow went up in surprise when he saw the young face, scrunched up, one hand grasping at the already swelling jaw, the other desperately trying to shade his eyes. This wasn't the Masterhe feared, this was the pup. Jonah was still trying to get his bearings when Nick spotted the knife lying only a few inches from the kid's hand. He quickly leaned over and forced his twitching fingers to grab it, wincing as the move sent pain searing down his arm and pulled on the stitches in his side. Once he had the knife, he put it into his belt and swept the beam of light around, trying to also find his gun, feeling suddenly lucky when he spotted it not far away. He flashed the light back to Jonah's face and went for the gun, letting out a sigh as he closed his hand around it, holding it as securely as he could. But it was only a false sense of security and he knew it.

"Where is the other guy, the 'Master'?" Nick asked in hushed voice, trying to sound as threatening as possible, though the thick Texas accent that crept back when he was stressed didn't help much.

He was surprised then at Jonah's relieved look, not understanding that what the boy feared the most was that he was fighting with his Master and had lost. If it had really been the Master pointing the gun at him, Jonah knew he'd have been dead two minutes ago, so surely this was a cop! Even if the cop looked threatening, it was nothing against the knowledge that the Master was still lurking around.

"Where is the Master?" Nick repeated the question and wasn't prepared for the cocky grin and the spit of blood in the reply.

"Go to hell, cop!" Jonah hissed, then gave a laugh. "You're already dead man."

"Only if Brass gets to me first," Nick muttered and cocked his gun. "Okay, another question. This one you better answer, or I swear I will shoot you right here."

"You can't do that, you're a cop, and I'm unarmed," Jonah quipped with that annoyingly calm grin on his face that Nick longed to erase.

"I wouldn't bet on that, Jonah. You said it yourself, I'm a dead man. And if I happen to make it out alive, who's to say you were unarmed? I still have your knife." Nick felt a momentary triumph when he saw the grin vanish, being replaced by a nervous frown. It was a good thing that Jonah didn't know him, because if he did, he would know right away that Nick was bluffing. No way could he shoot the kid unarmed, not even in this situation. But thankfully, Jonah didn't know it.

"So, I am asking you now," Nick started, pointing the gun at Jonah's head, while the flashlight was shining right into his eyes. "Where is the victim? Where is Kyle Anders?"

-xXxXx-

The ride in the ambulance was uneventful and the EMT was glad when his patient seemed to accept that he was going to be checked out at Desert Palms. It wasn't an actual emergency now, so the sirens were turned off, a fact that Jim Brass was eternally grateful for, because every sound he heard made his headache worse. It was then with a pained grunt that he took notice of the shrilling phone vibrating in his pocket. Casting a remorseful look at the EMT, he reached for the thing, hoping that it would be good news. The EMT couldn't do more than glare at the cell phone...not daring to take it away from Brass, even though he regretted the fact as soon as he saw the grimace and heard the cursing.

"Everything all right?" he asked blandly, which earned him a disgruntled snort in reply.

"No, everything's not all right!" Brass snarled and dialed another number.

"Uhm, you should really try to rest, Detective," the EMT ventured, and reached for the cell, but was quickly discouraged by the glare.

"Don't you try it kid," Brass threatenedand the EMT pulled back his hand as if scalded. He wasn't easily scared, after all, he dealt with angry drunks and other individuals on a daily basis and he could handle them, but this guy wasn't a drunk, he was a cop…a very annoyed armed cop with a headache. Clearing his throat, the EMT sat back on his seat and opted to listen.

"Grissom? Yeah, it's me. Listen, I just got a call from dispatch and-" but the detective was interrupted by the voice on the other end and his frown deepened.

"Yeah, I know that Nick was following our vic. Yeah, I think he was following that jerk Travis when he called me, but his cell went out. Now he's called 9-1-1 and asked for support. He gave an address downtown where the master took Kyle Anders-" the EMT listened as the detective gave out the address along with some more facts, but he perked up when he heard the last sentence. "I'm heading there now." With that the detective ended the call and looked at the EMT.

"You heard the address. Now tell your friend behind the wheel to turn it."

"Now wait just a moment, this isn't a damn taxi!" the EMT objected fiercely but pulled back startled, when the detective reached into his pocket.

"See this?" Brass shovedthe badge right under the EMT's nose. "It says police officer. Now if I remember correctly, you're supposed to react to any emergency call. We have a cop in a possible deadly situation, a hostage who's supposed to be burned alive and two dangerous killers... all in one place. If that isn't an emergency, I don't know what is."

"I still can't just turn the ambulance with a patient already on board and go downtown. That's not even our district," the EMT protested meekly.

"I don't care whose district it is!" Brass barked and when he saw the EMT flinch, he continued in a less threatening tone. "And if my being the patient is the problem, I will sign the AMA papers."

He saw the hesitation in the EMT's eyes, so he tried one final time.

"Look, if I'm right and that thick headed Texan went in, then my head will be the least of your worries," Brass said and with one last pointed look at his badge, the EMT turned and spoke to his partnerOnce the ambulance had turned around and the driver had flicked the siren on, the EMT picked up the microphone and informed the hospital of their new destination. By that time, Jim Brass was holding on with all his might, trying to keep down his lunch as the ambulance sped up toward the trouble.

-xXxXx-

Someone else was in the building, he was sure of that. But when he turned on the flashlight in the hall, it was empty. Making his way down the stairs, he froze for a second, feelinglike he was being watched, but there was no sound, no motion, so he continued down the stairs. He knew that leaving Jonah alone was a risk, but sending him to check out the origin of the noise was a bigger one. Not because he would be easily overpowered by the police, 'if' it was the police and not just some vagrant trying to find a place to sleep off the night. Jonah posed a flight risk. The Master realized it earlier at the warehouse, sensing Jonah's attempt to stay calm. He knew the kid was just pretending compliance; that was one of the reasons he gave him the dose of crystal-meth, knowing that it wouldkeep him on the job a little while longer. But the Master also knew that given the slightest chance, Jonah would run.

He was walking down in the lounge, when a movement to his right caught his attention. Spinning around, the beam of the flashlight reflected on two eyes and the Master cringed in disgust. The rat was big and it chittered threateningly toward the human, before turning and scooting away through a hole in the wall. The Mastersnorted and shook his head, thinking that maybe it was just the rat making the noise. Still, he checked out the hall and the lounge, shining the light into every corner, before he turned toward the entry door and frowned. He knew for sure he'dclosed it, yet now it was slightly ajar, letting in the warm breeze. Covering the distance to the door in two quick steps, the Master peeked outside. No movement and definitely no police cars. The street looked just as dead as when they came, yet something was different. There, just at the corner of the street was a parked car. It wasn't there before and it surely didn't belong.

So the rat didn't make the noise after all, someone else did. It wasn't a vagrant and as the car wasn't a squad car, he didn't think it was a cop either. That reminded him of his earlier encounter with the two men in the desert and he growled, the wound on his arm still throbbing. Their car hadn't been a squad car either, but he was sure that they were cops: they'd acted just like it. He'd made a mistake then: he should have finished what he'd started. Frowning fiercely, he turned and headed back toward the stairs, swearing he wouldn't make the same mistake twice.

-xXxXx-

"Kyle Anders?" Nick asked in a low voice when he saw the man tied to the was fighting with his bonds but went deathly still when the beam of the flashlight hit him. Nick didn't get a reply, but it didn't ruffle him. He nodded at Jonah who'd led him to the room, and with a pointed look sent him to stand in the far corner of the room, away from Kyle and himself.

"I'm Nick Stokes, CSI. The police are on their way." Saying this, Nick made his way to the man, and with trembling fingers, removed the tape from his mouth.

"Thank God," Kyle croaked, then cleared his throat and spat, once again fighting the urge to retch. "Get me out of here," he pleaded and Nick nodded. He looked down at the tape holding Kyle in the chair and frowned. He needed to hold the flashlight, preferably trainedat Jonah, along with his gun, yet he also needed to cut the tape. He just didn't have enough hands to do it, let alone uninjured hands. His right arm was already screaming at him from the strain of holding the gun, he just couldn't manage the flashlight as well.

"Okay, here we go," he muttered and put the flashlight into his mouth, then with his free hand pulled out the knife and started cutting off the tapes holding Kyle's left arm, all the while looking at Jonah, the gun aimed at him. It was a tedious job and almost impossible to do without cutting Kyle in the process.

"Ouch!" Kyle yelped when Nick's knife nicked his skin. The startled criminalist instinctively lost his concentration and looked down to see the damage.

It was the chance Jonah had been waiting for.

He'd snuck the lighter from his pocket and hidden it in his palm when they entered the room. Since then he'd been waiting for the right moment when the cop was distracted. Because the man didn't trust him to go near Kyle with a knife in his hand and cut him free, he'dhad to do it himself. Now that the man was looking down, the flashlight aimed at Kyle and the gun slightly lowered, Jonah flicked on the lighter and threw it towards the open gas can that was lying on the floor.

Nick registered the motion and looked up, but all he saw was a small light flying toward them. He watched it fall as if in slow motion, saw the flame from the lighter jump to the puddle on the floor, the flame erupting, consuming the gasoline that had soaked into the boards and spreading to the dry timber of the floor. Nick didn't have the time to shoot at Jonah, who was already half way out of the door. He could only watch as the fire spread and as it made its way to their feet. It was only Kyle's panicked scream that broke through his paralysis and made Nick realize he had to do something, or they would both die.

xxxxxxxxx

He needed to get his shirt off. It was soaked through with gasoline, he could smell it, even in the growing smoke. But he had to free his hands for that, and the CSI guy looked too shocked to make a move. So Kyle screamed, fear and frustration mixing in his voice, but it was enough to bring the CSI back to reality.

"Help me!" Kyle gave a desperate order and felt just a little relief when the man next to him started frantically cutting through his bonds, even though he lacked some grace in doing so and cut Kyle one more time. But Kyle didn't yelp and didn't protest at the awkward help, too scared that it would stop. Finally, his left arm was free and he was surprised when the knife was handed to him.

"You'll do it faster," the CSI said and Kyle simply nodded, wondering why the knife handle felt so slippery under his fingers, but he cut his other arm free and then leaned down cutting each tape holding his legs to the chair with one swift move. The next thing he knew, he was scrambling from the chair, away from the fire and ripping at his shirt, trying to pull it off. Nick watched him with some confusion, until Kyle turned to him as he threw away the shirt, spitting out one word.

"Gasoline."

Nick nodded and looked back toward the door. Any moment he expected to see two armed men charging in, but they weren't coming and right now, Nick didn't care if there was a killer in the building or not. They needed to get away from the fire, and the only way was through that door. He'd already looked at the window while Kyle was cutting himself free and couldn't stop the curse when seeing the bars on it. They were trapped and the fire was quickly moving from the spot it started. Flames licked angrily through the floor and toward the walls, eating at the wooden material like a hungry beast.

"We'llhave to go through," Nick said loudly, the sound of the crackling fire more oppressive by each second. Kyle threw him a startled glance, but after a moment nodded. Now that he'd taken his shirt off, he was bare chested and one look at the CSI told him he didn't have more than one layer of clothing either. Even this early in the summer, it was too hot to wear too many clothes, and although the nights brought some relief, it still wasn't cold enough for a jacket. He had no protection for his skin against the flames that were flaring up from the floor, and a quick glance around the room showed there were no spare clothes lying conveniently around.

"We have to go now, Kyle," Nick insisted forcefully, seeing the hesitation on the other man's face as he fumblingly holstered his gun. He too looked around them, eyes frantically searching for something, anything they could use for protection but all he saw was a dirty rag lying in the corner. Shaking his head in disbelief at what he wasdoing, Nick scooped the rag up nevertheless and forcing back the disgust, he ripped the rag in two and handed one piece to Kyle.

"Put this over your nose and mouth and try to hold your breath when going through." Kyle took the rag and did as ordered, but he didn't take a step toward the fire.

"Go along the right wall, the flames are lower there. Go! Now!" Nick shouted and when he saw that Kyle didn't move, seemed to be frozen in place, he did the only thing he could. Grabbing an arm, ignoring the scream of protest from his wounds, Nick half pulled, half pushed Kyle through the flames.

Kyle was shoved to the right, toward the flames that were consuming the wooden boards and licking at the wall. He was startled when the CSI pushed into him, but once he was that close to the flames, he couldn't stop. Kyle felt the heat on his skin, felt the material of his trousers stiffen and become hot as he staggered through the fire. The sweat evaporated from his skin and the hair on his chest began to curl. He tried hard not to breathe in the burning air and it was only when he hit the wall inthe hallway opposite the door that he allowed himself to take a breath, gasping when the cool air hit his lungs.

Nick stumbled out right behind Kyle, his left hand still clutching the man's bare arm, though he wasn't sure if it was to help Kyle or support his own weight. The pain in his side flared and Nick swayed, suddenly feeling lightheaded. He crashed against the wall and gasped for air, his vision strangely darkening, even though he was now looking right at the blazing red fire.

Kyle's eyes were closed when he felt more than heard the CSI hit the wall right next to him. Kyle squinted, only to open his eyes wider when he saw the flames licking at the other man's left leg.

"Your leg!" Nick heard the warning and looked down just as he felt the sensation.

"Argh!" Nick yelped and jumped, his next instinct was to try and put out the fire with his own bare hands. Luckily, before he could do that and acquire more burns, Kyle reacted and with the rag he'd earlier used as a face mask started beating on Nick's leg. When it didn't seem to help much, he looked up at Nick.

"Get down!" he ordered and clutching the CSI's arm, practically shovedhim on the floor, then threw the rag across his leg, stifling the fire with a few more pats.

Nick was left panting on the floor, curled up in pain and clutching his side, the lower part of his jeans charred but not burning anymore. Kyle took off the rag and pulled off some of the material that wasn't sticking to the skin and saw the angry red beneath it. It was hard to say if the red was due to the burns or just the fact that the only light was provided by the fire. In either case, Kyle couldn't do much to help.

"Hey, you okay, man?" he asked Nick, worried by the pained grimace on the man's face.

It took a moment, but after few deep breaths and a grunt, Nick uncurled and gave a shaky nod. He knew he'd ripped out some of the stitches in his side when he fell and his arm was throbbing unmercifully, but his leg felt only slightly painful in comparison.

"Think you can get up?" Kyle asked and cast a worried look down the hall, into the darkness. He couldn't hear past the crackling of the fire next room and the fact that he saw the grimace on the CSI's face made him painfully aware of how visible they were right now.

"We need to move."

"Help me up," Nick croaked and reached out with his left hand. Kyle took it and with some grunting hefted him up, though Nick stayed hunched and swaying, sweat running down his face; but then Kyle realized that he was sweating too and it wasn't just from the effort. He could see the flames licking the floor in the hallway, spreading out fromthe room they were born in.

"Thanks," Nick muttered and made an effort to pull himself together, knowing he would need to be mobile in a few seconds. "Can you...hear them?" he asked nervously and his good hand went to check for the gun that was thankfully still in the holster. Awkwardly pulling it out, Nick looked at Kyle, who was watching the dark hallway in apprehension, eyes looking much like a deer caught in headlights and it was then that Nick heard the voices coming from the stairwell, approaching.

"They're still here," Kyle warned and Nick nodded distractedly. It wasn't enough that they had a fire behind them, they had to fight their way out of the building.

"Where to now?" Kyle asked and Nick shook his head, turning around and nodding toward the fire.

"I think we should pass that by and try to go the other way. We just need to get out of this damn house, I don't care about the Master," Nick growled. "I've been in this area before...most of these houses have two staircases."

"Well, let's hope that you're right," Kyle said and with one last look toward the voices, he quickly headed the opposite way, Nick close on his heels.

"Sorry, but I didn't catch your name the first time," Kyle said in hushed voice as they walked blindly, too afraid to turn on the flashlight until they were around a corner.

"Call me Nick," the CSI answered with a pained smile as he limped through the hallway as fast as he could, wanting nothing more than to get out of the house before the 'Master' or Jonah came back to finish what they started.

-xXxXx-

His left foot barely touched the first stair when he heard several cars pulling up. Walking quickly back to the window, he saw two squad cars parked on the opposite side of the roadway while another one was pulling up at the corner and blocking one end of the street. With a curse, the Master turned and hastily moved from the hall to the stairs, only to catch sight of another person, trying to sneak past him towards the exit. Seeing the familiar lean frame, the Master grit his teeth and grabbed for the person, furious.

Jonah gave a yelp that changed from startled to painful as the Master's grip crushed his biceps.

"Just where the hell do you think you're going, Jonah?" the Master hissed.

"I-I was looking for you," Jonah croaked but it didn't sound very convincing and he knew it.

"Right," the Master snorted and shoved Jonah against the wall by the front of his shirt. "Now listen to me you little coward. I know you wanted to ditch me, but it's not that easy. Last guy that tried to run out on me is talking with the fish at the bottom of Hoover Dam. So if you don't want to join him, you'll do as I say. Understand?" To drive his point home, the Master pulled out his gun and pressed it against Jonah's chin.

Swallowing, all Jonah could do was to give a shaky nod of reply.

"Good. Now why were you 'looking' for me, when I told you to take care of Anders?"

"T-there's some CSI guy running around," Jonah stuttered, shivering at the feel of cold muzzle pressing into his skin. "He t-took my knife and c-cut Anders free-" Jonah said and cringed when the fist that was gripping his shirt suddenly let go and hit the wall right next to his ear instead.

"Idiot!" the Master cursed, causing Jonah to flinch even further away from the irate man.

"Where are they now?"

"S-still there, I think. I-I kinda started the fire-" the Master's hand moved and Jonah winced, expecting the impact of his fist, when instead he got a pat on his shoulder.

"Good. At least something's going right. Now listen to me carefully, Jonah," he spoke and his hand gripped Jonah'schin, turning him so that the boy couldn't look away. There was no kindness in the Master's eyes, no familiarity, only cold promise.

"You've got two choices. One, you can walk out this door like you wanted to do a minute ago and get arrested by the cops that are right now deciding how to get into this building…but I'll warn you right now, if you open that door, it will be the last thing you ever do, because trust me, I will kill you first," the Master hissed, his tone low and threatening. "Or two…you can go up these stairs and check if the cop and Anders are really burning to a crisp as you said. Now what will it be?"

There really wasn't any choice if he wanted to live, and Jonah knew it, so he only nodded and cleared his throat, suddenly casting a nervous look to the door.

"C-cops? S-shouldn't we g-get the hell outta here?" he stuttered and the Master gave a snort.

"Chill, man. First they need to 'assess' the situation before they come crashing in. But you're right, we don't have much time." With that, the Masterturned around and walked to the broken table in the corner and pulled it over to the pile of trash that was beneath the stairs. Digging into his pocket, he took out a small flask containing alcohol he'd originally planned to use for a different purpose once the job was over. He splashed the liquid on the pile of trash, then took out a matchbook and scraped one alight. Quickly sticking the match back in the book, he threw the whole thing onto the trash, watching the small flame flare up as the other matches lit, then seeing the alcohol catch fire and the flames taking on a life of their own. Satisfied with his effort, the Master turned and quickly walked up the stairs, Jonah right behind him, puzzled.

"W-why did you do that?" he finally asked once they were on the top of the stairs.

"Just buying us some time. Now the cops will need to wait for the fire brigade before they can do anything."

"But how will we get out?" Jonah asked, his voice suddenly high pitched as the panic hit him. He hadn't envisioned himself trapped in a burning house.

"Relax," the Master replied with a smug grin. "I know how to get out. As long as you stay on my side, you'll get to see the light." However cheerful this may have sounded, Jonah only heard the warning and his head bobbed once again.

"What now, Master?" he asked, and cleared his throat, suddenly too aware of the smoke coming further from the hall.

"Now you go down that hall and into the second staircase that's at the end of it. You can check if Anders and the CSI are still in the room, though I really doubt it," the Master said in a half sneer. "Here, take this but don't let me see you if you lose this one too," he gave Jonah his knife, leaving himself only the gun.

"B-but there's a fire-" Jonah protested meekly.

"So you should probably get a move on," the master advised with a grin and without another word headed up the stairs to the second floor.

"W-wait, there's another staircase? But couldn't they have already left that way?"

"The door that opens into the floor below is boarded up. The only way to go is up, and if they went that way, I will find them there."


	14. Chapter 14

"Damn it to hell, what kind of an idiot boards up a door?" Kyle hissed in annoyance. He simply couldn't believe their escape had been thwarted so mundanely. Nick wasn't happy about it either, but he was too tired and achy to complain, all he could think of was that now he would have to walk up those stairs once again. He turned to retrace their steps, bumping his arm against the banister as he did so. A strangled curse fell from his lips as his right hand spasmed in response to a sharp stab of pain from his sliced arm, and he tried to awkwardly grab hold of the wound with a gun filled left hand. As the ache died down slightly, he realized they had a problem. He'd never been a good shot left handed, and the way he was feeling now, he doubted he'd be able to hit anything smaller than a tank if he tried. Quickly considering the options, he looked at Kyle assessingly.

"You ever used a gun before Kyle?" he asked.

Kyle ceased cursing at the boarded up doorway and looked at Nick.

"Yeah, I've got a 9mm at home. A friend of mine in the army taught me how to use it, and I do some target shooting at the range sometimes."

"Think you can handle this one?" Nick offered his gun to Kyle, praying he was making the right decision.

Kyle studied Nick in the light of the flashlight, noting the bloody wound on his arm, and the weariness that reflected from the CSI's eyes. Dropping his gaze to the offered gun, he slowly reached out and took it, hefting it for a moment before professionally checking the clip and the safety.

"I think so," he replied. "Can you manage the flashlight?"

Nodding in acceptance, Nick turned towards the stairs, holding the flashlight in his left hand, whilst he hugged his right arm close to his body.

'"Come on then, we'll have to go back up."

As they reached the first floor landing where they'd entered the stairwell, both men tried to be as silent as possible. Flicking the flashlight off and tucking it into his pocket, he motioned to Kyle to stay back but ready. He nodded in understanding and took up a position to cover Nick, who opened the door slightly only to jump back, the stifling heat and thick smoke pouring through the cracked door, causing them to gasp and cough and instantly reducing their ability to see each other. Nick automatically put a hand to his nose, but it wasn't much help. Closing the door, they backed away, struggling to clear their eyes and lungs of the clinging, stinging smoke. Their eyes met as they realized there was only one avenue left to them.

"Gotta go – up!" Nick managed to say before he started coughing again, eyes watering and all he could do was stumble blindly across the landing towards the steps leading to the next floor. He bumped into Kyle and almost fell, but the other man caught his arm and somehow Nick made it up to the second floor, not even sure how. His legs felt jittery and he was feeling dizzy, his throat was raw and he couldn't stop the urge to cough. The smoke lingering behind didn't help much, only to usher them out of the staircase and into the relatively smoke free but equally dangerous hall.

"What – now?" Kyle asked, his voice muffled yet to Nick it sounded too loud.

"Find the…fire escape…and hope…we get the hell out…before the Master," Nick gasped out, trying to stifle another coughing fit.

-xXxXx-

It was the confidence, the feeling of power over the others which made him reckless. He should've realized that his plans weren't working as they should the moment Jonah first disobeyed his orders, but he was so sure of himself that there was no way he would admit to himself that the biggest mistake was to bring Jonah into his plans.

He'd been a killer for several years now. Hell, he was killing before he even had the right to get a drink. Spending three years in a street gang tended to bring out the worst in people. He knifed two boys from another gang as easily as his father used to knife the deer on their hunts.

No pity. No guilt. Just the feeling of power. But he hadn't bragged about it and let another kid get all the credit. It was the luckiest decision in his life, seeing how he was arrested only a few weeks later for stealing a stupid car. But that wasn't the worst thing in his life either. Because he was given a choice…either spend the next few years in jail or join the army. It wasn't a hard choice and soon he found himself with a group of men - 'his unit' - with a target, a loaded gun and the order to kill. The feeling of power grew each time he pulled the trigger, each time a bullet found its target. He never missed.

When the 'war that wasn't a war' ended, he was back in the US, a grown and experienced man. He had a rank and a job and he was about to get a command of his own, when some idiotic member of his unit, a guy who was a second rate officer and wanting his own command, gave an official report saying that 'he enjoyed the killing just a little too much'. Then came the psychological reviews, the in depth look at all his files and someone digging into his past. It didn't take long before he was pulled off the command list and sent to some 'behind the desk job' where he wasn't a liability.

So he left. For some time, he was trying to live the 'normal' life, but he could take it only for so long before the inner need for power returned. Then he started 'taking jobs'. First just one or two in a year, then more, it depended on how much of a stir the said job made. He took 'partners' only occasionally, when there were more victims. Then when the job was over, his partner would turn up dead somewhere…or not be found at all, the body decomposing on the bottom of some lake…all the evidence pointing to him. It was easy, sometimes even fun work to do, the Master thought as he reached the top of the stairs and continued a little more carefully down the hall on the second floor.

He thought Jonah would be easy to handle, mostly because the kid's dependence on the drugs. But he was wrong and now wasn't the time to correct his mistakes, too many cops around for that. When they'd finished with Kyle Anders and that nameless CSI (the Master had to grit his teeth at the mere thought that some damned scientist could put a hitch in his plans), he would get rid of Jonah and put this whole fiasco behind him. He didn't care anymore about the fourth victim, he knew it would be insane to try and go after the woman when every cop in the city had probably managed to make the connection between the first two murders. Now he had to concentrate on the present situation, which wasn't exactly ideal either.

Though there was no fire on this floor, the hall was filled with smoke. It came from the stairs and the Master had a feeling that maybe there could be some flames licking at the floor of the room right above where the fire started. He really wasn't sure if sending Jonah to the other staircase was a smart thing to do, but he thought that the CSI would feel the need to escape a little more strongly then the need to arrest the kid. If nothing else, Jonah could act as a good sheep dog and chase the target toward him. As if in response to his thoughts, he heard a cough. Even if the man was trying to stifle the sound, it was enough to give away his position and the Master smiled evilly. Pausing, he checked his gun and rubbed at his eyes, trying to clear the tears that welled up in reaction to the smoke. He was a shooter and even if his hand was steady, he still needed to see his target.

He hefted the flashlight he'd used earlier but didn't turn it on. He wanted to use the light to blind the victim so he could easily shoot. Somewhere in front of him the man tried to stifle another cough and the Master moved.

-xXxXx-

Nick knew that given the circumstances, he wouldn't be able to put up much of a fight. Not with the blood loss combined with whatever fumes were mixed with the smoke from the building's insulation catching on fire, it all made him dizzy and unsteady on his legs. Even leaning against the wall, it was hard for him to tell which way was up or down. Logically, they should've run for the nearest window and whether there was a fire escape or not, just got the hell out of the building, even if it meant jumping from the second storey. But Nick didn't feel like the sharpest pin in the box at the moment and he knew that somewhere ahead of him, there were two dangerous, armed men who were bent on killing them. So instead of running blindly toward them, Nick opted for the waiting game, hoping that his feeble attempts at stifling the coughing would act like the perfect bait.

Let the hunter come to the prey.

-xXxXx-

He could practically feel the man hiding in the corner, yet he still approached slowly. It was an effort to keep his coughing at bay, the smoke was catching up with him and making his throat constrict, while his lungs protested angrily at being forced to breathe it in without a chance to force some of the smoke out. It wasn't too bad yet and he still had control over his body…something that the person ahead of him was obviously losing.

Keeping his steps light, the Master approached, ready to attack, when the coughing stopped and he heard "Now!" echoing through the hall. He tensed, his finger on the trigger automatically squeezing when the light blinded him.

-xXxXx-

Their only chance was to take whoever was coming by surprise. Though their plan was simple, it wasn't foolproof. Nick realized it the moment he heard the bullet hit the wall only inches from his head and he leapt to the left, the light dangling in his healthy hand, while he yelled at Kyle.

"Shoot him!"

No sooner left the words his mouth then two more shots were fired, each from a different gun. Nick heard a pained yelp and he reflexively turned the flashlight toward its source, only to see Kyle groping at his useless shoulder that was bleeding freely from a bullet wound. The weapon he was holding earlier was now lying somewhere on the floor, out of reach. Nick turned, the light leaving Kyle's pained form before it could be used as a target and Nick more sensed than heard the movement. He knew that blinding the Master gave him only a few seconds and Kyle was very lucky, catching a bullet in his shoulder instead of his head, just as he knew that given a chance, the next bullet would most likely end up in a much deadlier place, probably Nick's own chest. So acting on pure instinct, Nick threw the flashlight at the figure before him, aiming for the gun.

-xXxXx-

Even as the Master squeezed the trigger he knew the shot was off, but he didn't really mind, somehow he knew his real target wasn't the one blinding him with light, but someone hiding in the shadow, someone who also held a gun. There was only one place said person could be and the master took aim and fired again. He was rewarded by a pained yelp and for a second the person holding the light turned, showing him his victim. He could've shot him in that simple moment, but the light went away and the figure fell back into darkness.

Then he was distracted by the sudden movement of the beam and the trajectory it took, his finger once again squeezing the trigger aiming for the light, only to realize a little too late that it wasn't held by a person. The flashlight bounced off his arm and in the next second he felt something big collide into his midsection, pinning him to the wall. The gun was knocked out of his hand and he was left, unarmed, to fight.

-xXxXx-

Disobeying an order or not, there was no way Jonah could get past the fire and continue down the dark hall. It wasn't as much the flames itself, but the smoke. It was heavy and choking and Jonah had the feeling he would suffocate if he should stay one more minute in that damned hall. He had to go up, where there was still breathable air, where the heat wasn't making him feel like a scorched chicken. To hell with the master and his orders... he still knew that sending him after those two men was a crazy idea, after all, the CSI guy had a gun and all Jonah was armed with was a stupid knife. No match to the bullets. So waiting a minute until the master's figure vanished from the stairs, Jonah turned from the fire and slowly followed him up. Maybe if he will do, the Master won't even know he disobeyed him. Or maybe he will just be too occupied with his 'victim' that he won't see Jonah slipping away through the closest window. At least, that was the plan when Jonah entered the hall on the second floor.

Of course, plans never came out as they were supposed to and Jonah found himself in the footsteps of his master, following the same cough, caught on the same pawn. He should've tried to open some door and slip into a room, then out of the window, but some inner voice warned him that making any noise right now would mean a bullet. The master wasn't counting on Jonah following him, so with all probability he would think Jonah was just one of his targets. Not wanting to risk it, Jonah followed, keeping several yards behind the older man. That was why no one saw him when the flashlight was turned on and it's beam blinded the master. Jonah stood frozen in place, momentarily stunned, and equally surprised. Then there were shots fired and Jonah had to duck, crouching and pushing against the wall, as if trying to vanish in it. When the light sailed through the air and landed on the floor, shining at the opposite wall but not showing anything, Jonah heard the scuffle of the fight. Pained grunts and hollow thuds when someone hit the wall.

There was no shooting though, no gun waving blindly around and threatening to fire a hole into his heart. The fear that was binding him until now fell off and Jonah stood, slowly approaching the scuffle ahead of him, the knife held in ready. He felt someone's blood in the air, mixed with the thick smell of the smoke and his heart beat faster. He knew the master was winning, knew it by the painful grunts that belonged to the other man. And then it suddenly occurred to him that he could maybe pass the struggling duo and finish off the third man that was hiding in the room behind them. Maybe then the master would finally accept him as a partner in crime more than just some 'slave' who would obey any command. For that moment, Jonah thought that maybe he could even get to see the next day from some fancy hotel room, rather then from the inside of a jail, or the morgue. But plans never come out as they were planned.

Jonah managed to take only few steps when he heard the change in the fight, when the sound of falling fists changed into a more sinister sound of a grunted gasp and a body being showed. He took a step ahead and stumbled with a startled cry when a body landed on him, sending them both to the ground. The world tilted and went totally dark for a second when Jonah landed, his head hitting the hard floor with a thud while the person that knocked him down stayed unmoving, laying on top of Jonah like a dead weight it was. It took several seconds for Jonah to recover enough to realize that something warm was staining his shirt and pants. The heavy smell let him know it was blood, but he wasn't sure if it was his or not. The feeling of pain didn't come though and Jonah moved, trying to get the body off of him, when he noticed the knife wasn't in his hand anymore. He felt for it, half panicking, remembering the master's words about losing it, then his hand bumped into something and Jonah went still. Slowly touching the thing, he knew it was his knife. What made him gasp was the fact it was securely embedded in someone's back, up to it's tilt.

Once he knew that the blood wasn't his own, Jonah pushed the body off of him with some disgust. It fell without a sound which was enough of a sign that it was truly dead. Now that he established that fact, Jonah became hurtfully aware of the gasps coming from ahead. He heard movement and saw the forgotten flashlight being picked up, then trained first at him, then at the corpse. He had to squeeze his eyes shut for a moment to adjust, and by then the gasps turned into rasping breath with an occasional cough. Not really wanting to see but knowing who was laying there dead, Jonah turned and looked.

xxxxxxxxx

Grissom knew he wouldn't find Nick waiting patiently in the car even before he saw the empty vehicle parked on the street. He knew because there was no way that Nick would've waited so long. Not with a civilian in danger, and surely not with his stubborn Texan nature, that combined with Nick's emphatic feelings toward the victims just made him prone to get into trouble. Gritting his teeth, Grissom stopped his own car and got out of it, heading straight for the squad car that was a little further ahead, passing Nick's rented car with only a brief glance, leaving the closer inspection to Warrick, who was already looking inside through the window, gloved hand opening the door.

"No sign of a fight, Gris," the tall CSI called after his supervisor, his tone a mix of frustration tinged with relief and maybe fear. Warrick wasn't stupid. He knew that Nick left the car on his own, though somehow he was hoping that Nick was smarter than to follow two armed killers into an insecure building.

"Have you sent someone inside?" Grissom asked as soon as he reached the officer that was in charge.

"No, sir. We arrived just a minute ago. The guy who called it in was one of yours?"

"Yeah. I think he's inside that building, along with two armed suspects and the vic. How do you plan on proceeding?"

The officer looked unsure and that made Grissom more uneasy. They didn't have time for hesitation – Nick didn't have the time.

"Is this a kidnapping? Will they ask for ransom?" the officer asked, hoping for a positive reply. That would make his decisions much easier. He could wait for the SWAT team, or the negotiator.

"They won't be asking for anything," Warrick said, coming up from behind Grissom and looking angry. "They only want to burn a man alive, then get the hell away. There's no time for waiting!"

The officer held Warrick's look for a moment, then pulled out his radio and started giving out instructions. Grissom and Warrick exchanged a relieved look, then turned and headed back for their car, silently taking out the bullet proof vests and checking on their guns, before returning to the squad car.

"I've called for more back up but their ETA is ten minutes at best. With you two, there's six of us. Anything we should be aware of before we enter that building?" the sergeant asked, trying to not sound as nervous as he was.

"Just don't shoot our guy," Warrick said with a grin that was more of a warning and took position by the door along with two other cops who were preparing to enter.

"Well, that helps," the sergeant muttered as he took his position and then gave the signal.

The doorknob was hot and the officer that touched it pulled off his hand with a gasp, looking confused. That was when Grissom, who was standing a little further back, noticed the smoke coming from under the door and he exchanged an anguished look with Warrick. Tightening his lips into a thin line at the thought that they were too late, Warrick hissed a warning to the others before stepping quickly forward and bringing his foot up, landing a kick on the door that had it slamming back against the wall with explosive force.

They were welcomed by the choking smoke that surged out through the open door, the stifling heat rolling out right behind it and Warrick gave a choked curse when despite all of it, his momentum carried him inside past the crouching police officers. He staggered to a halt to see the red flames consuming the staircase, several greedy fingers of flame starting to lick at the first floor landing as the aged timber began to smoke and blacken. He didn't hear the other cops coming after him over the ominous crackle of the flames, didn't see them scoping the place for anyone that was alive, only to retreat to the exit once they realized that there was no one there, dead or alive. All Warrick heard was his own voice as he shouted for Nick, trying to find a way to get through the fire and up the stairs, because that was the only place his friend could've gone if he wasn't here. He didn't listen when a voice called at him, and when a hand landed on his shoulder, trying to pull him out, he pushed it away and went further inside. Sweat ran down his face and mixed with tears as the smoke irritated his eyes, and he squinted in response as he tried to see through the smoky interior of the house.

"Nick!" Warrick yelled again, then doubled over in a cough. He was still gasping for breath when someone turned him and forcibly started to move him out of the house.

"No, gotta – find Nick," he gasped out and started struggling, when the man that was holding him turned and Warrick realized it was Grissom.

"He isn't there!" Grissom shouted, compensating for the momentary loss of hearing. He wasn't sure if it was caused by his illness or by the fact that the only sound that could be heard was the scary crackling of the fire as it consumed the wood and everything else around them.

Forestalling any further argument, Grissom grasped Warrick's arm with a force that would leave bruises and harshly turned Warrick so he could see the burning stairs.

"Look, no way up! We have to go!" Without waiting, Grissom headed for the exit and this time Warrick followed him, simply because he had no breath left for arguing.

-xXxXx-

He knew things went from bad to worse the moment he heard the crackle of the radio and saw the driver react to it. Jim was sitting in the back of the ambulance, hunched over and leaning against the wall as he tried to keep his seat against the swaying and rocking of the vehicle. There was no way he could possibly fall asleep during this crazy ride, and he made a mental note to never ride in the back of an ambulance ever again, unless he was at least unconscious…it was worse than one of those carnival rides where the kids either screamed in delighted hysteria or tossed their cookies. He'd asked the paramedic for some Tylenol to try and silence his headache enough so he could hear the world around himself. The paramedic was sitting opposite him, pouting. Looking at him, Brass had a sudden recollection of his daughter when she was four year old and wanted the doll she saw in a shop display window. Jim had tried to tell her that the shop was closed and that they wouldn't be open until the next day, but she didn't believe him. Even when he'd bought her an ice cream, she had had the same pout for the rest of the day. Giving his head a slight shake, Brass realized his eyes had closed and as he opened them, he saw the kid was watching him, the pout gone, replaced by something else.

Frowning, Brass instinctively straightened up.

"What's wrong?"

"We just got a call," the paramedic started, hesitating.

"We're not turning this car," Brass growled in warning and the kid shook his head.

"No, dispatch already knows we are heading down town. They're sending out two more ambulances that way."

"Why?"

"Someone reported a building on fire. With this weather and in the down town area, the chance that the fire will spread is too big. They'll have to evacuate the surrounding buildings-" the medic continued, but Brass stopped listening. All he could think of was that there was a fire, and that they were already too late.

-xXxXx-

When the ambulance arrived, it was to find two men stumbling out of the building. One officer was talking into his radio by the squad car, while another two were trying to keep some curious onlookers back. Brass shook his head in disgust…human nature at its finest. It didn't seem to matter when, where, how or why, there was always the rubberneck element who turned up to stare in horrified fascination at any sign of death or destruction. Jim briefly wondered if there was some kind of built in element in humans which alerted them to such happenings so that they knew when to turn up, before jerking his attention forcibly back to the scene of the action. He began cursing under his breath as he recognized the men, and turning to the rear doors, he thumped on them angrily as he yelled at the driver to hurry up and stop. The ambulance had barely slid to a halt before Brass was out and somehow drunkenly running toward the two men that had just come out of the building.

"Are you two insane, going into a burning house?" he shouted angrily when he saw both Warrick and Grissom gasping for breath, their faces dark with soot they didn't even know was there, because there was no way Grissom would rub at his face trying to brush off the sweat if he knew he was just smearing the stuff all over his normally clean visage.

Before anyone of them could reply though, Brass looked around with hope that quickly vanished.

"Nick?"

"Probably – still inside," Grissom gasped out once he caught his breath.

"Crap" was all Brass said and Warrick could only nod.

"Maybe he's not here, maybe he's somewhere else? Maybe the Master already left and Nicky followed him," Brass asked hopefully but Grissom shook his head.

"His car is...still here. As well as the car the Master was driving."

The detective let out another curse, while the paramedic from the rear of the ambulance who had followed him, put down his bag and tried to attend to Warrick, unsuccessfully. The irate CSI pushed away the help and stood, swaying, looking at the building as if he was thinking about returning. Grissom shoot him a warning look but Warrick only glared at him.

"I could've found a way up," the younger man spoke, his voice hoarse but strong.

"You would've died," Grissom answered firmly, knowing it was the truth.

"Isn't there any other way inside? I doubt the Master would set the fire without an escape plan," Brass mused and practically saw the two light bulbs go up above the heads of the two CSI's.

"Escape...that's it!" Warrick shouted and turned away from the building, no longer interested. Instead he headed towards the neighboring house, giving a heavy knock on the door before kicking out with his leg. The door gave a cracking sound but didn't budge so Warrick lifted his leg and gave it another hard blow, this time stumbling inside when the door gave under the pressure.

"What the hell are you doing?" Brass asked once he caught up with Warrick.

"There must be a fire escape on the other side of the building. Maybe Nick is there... or we can try and get into the building that way."

"What part about the fact that there's a fire didn't you understand, Warrick?" the detective asked heatedly, but followed the CSI just like Grissom, who found it was the right time to make a comment.

"The fire hasn't reached the top floors yet. If Nick's still alive, he will be on the first or second floor. We can get to him by using the fire escape."

"Yeah, well…what if it's the Master who's there?"

"That's why you're coming with us, Jim," Grissom said grimly.

-xXxXx-

It wasn't hard to die. It hurt, but the pain quickly faded, leaving behind a deep, never ending numbness. But it was a surprise. He hadn't thought death would come for him this day. Sure, there was always that chance, but he was an optimist…do everything you can and you'll survive. He'd done what he could. He knew where his opponents were, knew what weapons they possessed and what were they capable of. So what, if he caught an unexpected left hook to his jaw? So what, if something hit him in the stomach with a strength he didn't know his attacker still had, and sent him flying through the hall? This shouldn't have happened. He knew the enemy, knew to keep facing him. But he didn't consider that this time the danger came from the back. One minute he was in charge, his fist connecting with flesh, the next he was falling, his back pierced with a flash of white hot pain.

He didn't know if he was alive anymore...as the blood ran freely down his back, his body started losing warmth, but he didn't shiver...he couldn't. There was no gasping for breath, no choked sobs, there was no sound leaving his throat ever again. Still, there was the light and the face looking down at him with such surprise he thought it almost funny. His synapses sent a last signal through his brain before it finally shut down.

'Why, Jonah?'

-xXxXx-

All he could feel was surprise. He was alive and the Master was dead. Nick couldn't tell if he felt any relief. Maybe once they got out of the building, out of the fire's way. Maybe when there wasn't anyone trying to kill them he could feel the relief. But right now, all he felt was surprise and pain. The fight took a lot out of him and he wasn't sure he'd be up to doing very much if the kid decided to go another round with him. He closed his eyes briefly as the room tilted crazily, then forced them open again.

"N-Nick?" came the pained question from the right and Nick half turned his head, not daring to make any fast movements. He knew it wouldn't take much to upset the delicate balance he was maintaining on his equilibrium, and falling down was not a good idea right now. There was no way he would be able to regain his feet if that happened, regardless of whether there was a fire in the building, or another crazy armed killer trying to attack him.

"I'm okay," Nick answered. It came out only as a croak, but still, it was a signal he was alive.

"Is...it's over?" Kyle asked and Nick had to look back at the boy that was on the floor, half cradling the dead form of his Master. As if feeling his look, Jonah's head turned toward the light and he blinked.

Was it over?

Nick didn't know. Jonah's face was utterly blank, the only emotions written deep in his eyes but those Nick couldn't interpret. Taking a shallow breath, eyes burning from the smoke, Nick swallowed.

"Is it over, Jonah?"

-xXxXx-

He had killed the Master. He had wanted to prove himself, to help, and instead, he had killed the man with his own knife. It was almost funny but he couldn't laugh. It was sad, but he couldn't cry either, because he knew that sooner or later, the Master would've killed him.

'I should feel something,' Jonah thought, but he didn't. Everything became empty and unimportant. It was almost as if he'd taken a dose of crystal meth. Reality didn't exist anymore…this was all just some crazy dream. The answer to the question didn't matter.

He wanted to tell that to the man who was still shining the damn light onto his Master's corpse. He wanted to tell him, to shake his head or nod, whatever was needed, when he saw something mere feet from him.

He was still in that dreamlike haze when he reached out and grabbed it, when he cocked the gun and aimed it at the light. But he didn't shoot.

"Leave."


	15. Chapter 15

"Just go!" the boy shouted and Nick jerked. He hadn't even noticed the weapon, the Master's gun that had been knocked out of his hand during the fight. All he knew was that one second Jonah was deathly still, looking almost as pale as the corpse next to him, the next his hand was reaching into the shadows and coming back with a gun. All this happened without Nick even reacting, yet he was still alive and bullet free.

"Get – the – hell – out!" Jonah screamed and Nick knew with a shudder that it was a last warning. Slowly he moved, his eyes never leaving the young man who held the gun in a shaking grip. He took one step back, then another, his hands spread in a desperate calming measure, trying to express his need for no further killing. His attention was so totally focused on Jonah that he barely stopped a startled yelp when someone touched his shoulder and pulled him into a room, the door quickly closing behind them.

He'd barely regained his balance when he was turning, his fist already on it's way to the man's jaw when his beleaguered brain finally caught up to his body's instincts and he realized it was Kyle. The muscles in his arm and shoulder clenched and bunched as he stopped the punch only just in time, his fist an inch from Kyle's startled face. Nick's face twisted from the effort, and his entire body twitched in response as he finally managed to relax enough to breathe again, drawing in deep gasping breaths as he dropped his arm and struggled to regain his composure. He patted Kyle on the shoulder to let him know he was ok before bending over and propping his hand on his knee to help his lungs recover, his wounded arm gingerly tucked in to his aching side. Over the quietening sound of his own gasps, his hearing suddenly processed the sound of pained breathing from the other man and he remembered that Kyle had been shot in the shoulder.

'He probably needs that shoulder looked at, it's most likely still bleeding,' Nick thought blearily, his sluggish thoughts slowly starting to take on some semblance of rationality. Despite this thought, his body didn't move…he simply couldn't find the energy to do much more than he was doing just yet. He stayed where he was, his eyes closed now as he fought against the darkness that was threatening to overcome him. When Nick did open his eyes, the dizziness had receded slightly, allowing his muzzy brain to attempt to figure out how to get out. A touch on his good arm brought his head up, and his gaze turning towards the other man, to see him pointing towards the moonlit window.

"Fire…escape," Kyle ground out. Nick blinked in confusion for a moment, and Kyle literally saw the understanding flow into the CSI's eyes as his brain processed the words, turning them from gibberish into something that made sense.

Nick's thoughts sharpened as he took in the fact that he could actually see the shadowy figure beside him due to the eerie light entering the room. Studying the aperture in front of them, he let out the breath he'd been unconsciously holding when he also realized it was their means of escape from the inferno that was threatening them.

"No bars," he sighed in relief and took a step toward the window but was stopped when Kyle pushed something into his palm.

"What-?"

"Your gun." Kyle said and looked at him, as if waiting for something.

"Thanks man," Nick spoke, unsure of what to say.

"What...what about him?" Kyle asked, his head nodding toward the door, voice colored by fear and pain. His shoulder hurt, the smoke was making it hard to talk and it was hotter than hell, but he still couldn't shake the feeling that they should do something about the other guy.

Nick felt the weight of the gun but wasn't able to force himself to return to the hall and risk everything. He was just too tired.

Shaking his head, Nick gave a half shrug.

"We need to stay alive and get out," Nick said and without another word headed for the window.

He hadn't come here to arrest Jonah, he'd come to try to keep Kyle from being burned alive. How he'd managed that until now was a miracle on its own and Nick definitely didn't want to try his luck and get into another stand-off situation with Jonah. If the kid wanted to get out of this alive, he would have to take the fire escape just like they would, and Nick would rather not be still standing there when Jonah realized this. Shoving his gun awkwardly back into his holster, he pulled open the window and with a grunt and gritted teeth he climbed over the window sill. When the fresh air hit his face he eagerly gulped for it, while trying to help Kyle over the window sill without jarring his injured shoulder. They were like a pair of soldiers coming from a battle and they felt like it too. For a minute, they just stood there on the fire escape, each of them trying to prepare themselves for the arduous trip down the stairs.

-xXxXx-

They left. Jonah couldn't believe he just let the man go, even though he could have simply shot him. But he did and now he was sitting all alone with a dead body in a hall filled with smoke, the fire already crawling around the walls, finding its way toward him. He was just sitting, the gun in his hand now lying on his lap like a toy.

There was no one left to tell him what to do. His whole life was about being told where to go, what to do and what not. From the moment he was born, his father was giving out orders. But they weren't good orders, not like 'go and do your homework' or 'don't beat up on younger kids'. They were orders like 'buy me a beer', 'get the hell out of my way' and 'stop being such a wimp'. Of course, his mom was taking care of everything else, but still...Jonah learned his way around pretty quickly. The drugs were freedom; the drugs were the way to easier study, to better grades. The drugs meant he could get to the school he wanted, far away from this place. They meant freedom.

But the reality is, things are never that simple. If something gives you what you want, sooner or later it will want something back. And that something often wanted much more than you could afford. Instead of freedom, Jonah was trapped in the vicious circle of a drug user. Even when he managed to escape his old life, he didn't get his freedom. When the Master appeared, Jonah just returned into the normalcy of orders in exchange for the drug. Then he learned something new…something just as powerful as the crystal meth, if not more. And the lust for freedom was replaced by the lust for power over life.

Jonah didn't know who he was. He thought that being a killer meant you thought about nothing but death. That it meant you were prepared to kill at any moment of your life. He didn't feel like that, so he didn't think he was a killer. He even felt guilt once the thrill of the act was over. He hated himself and swore to never do it again. But it was like being addicted to drugs. Once you got a dose you could swear on the life of the person dearest to you that you would never take it again, but he knew that was a lie. Once the withdrawal hits, you would be willing to load the gun that would fire the bullet.

Right now, Jonah was an addict in withdrawal. He needed something to clear his head, to allow him to concentrate, but he knew that once one of his needs was soothed, the other one would want to be satiated too. It was just that way.

Knowing this, it still took Jonah a long moment to decide whether to reach into the pocket of the Master's pants or not. He knew the Master kept a small dose with him when they were heading out for a kill, like some kind of motivation to receive a reward after a well performed job.

When he saw the first flames licking at the floor, heading toward him from the stairs, Jonah's resolve fell and he quickly turned the body so he could reach inside the pocket. Grimacing, he fished out the small packet and opened it with half trembling hands. He needed some control, even if it was the drug that gave it to him.

-xXxXx-

"That's why I am here?" Brass asked exasperatedly, looking at Grissom as if he'd just grown a second head. "Should I remind you that I'm seeing double and have a thumping headache? I couldn't hit jack-shit right now, and you take me for a back-up?"

"It's not like we had much choice," Warrick quipped, trying to find the exit without stepping into any of the crap that was on the floor. They were lucky in that the building next to the one that was burning was already deserted because of the planned demolition. Still he would've liked to find someone with the keys to the exit at the back of the building because his leg was starting to hurt from all the kicking.

"Don't be a smart ass, Brown," the detective replied and this time it was he who opened the door and let them into the back street. Maybe it wasn't the best way to get where they wanted, but it sure was faster than to drive around the whole block of buildings.

Grissom had only taken a few steps on the dirty pavement when his eyes went up to the fire escape. He couldn't see much...the smoke that was coming from the window on the first floor was thick and dark, making it hard to see the higher stairs, yet he was sure there was some kind of movement, some sound.

"Do you see that?" he asked the others and they both gave a silent nod, their guns automatically aimed at the fire escape.

"Nicky?" Warrick shouted and they saw that the motion stopped. Brass cursed the smoke, they could barely see anything and he didn't like that someone was above them, in a much better position to aim if needed.

"Warrick?" came the hoarse reply and the three men gave a collective sigh of relief, Warrick even grinned.

"Man, I am so gonna kick your ass for this," he muttered, shaking his head.

"You'll have to stand in line for that," Brass growled.

"Are you okay, Nick?" Grissom asked, his concern spiking when they heard coughing and a quiet muttering. There was obviously someone else with Nick and they became alert.

"Yeah," Nick replied once he stopped coughing, though he still sounded out of breath. "Kyle's with me...he's been shot. The Master is dead."

"What about Jonah?"

"The kid's…still inside," came a strangled reply from another voice, Kyle.

"He can still cause trouble," the detective said in hushed tone and exchanged a grim look with the other two.

"Do you think you can get down by yourself?" Grissom asked, already knowing that it might be a problem.

"We already tried," Nick called out with a shaking voice that betrayed desperation. "We can't get past the first floor…it's too hot there."

"Damn," Warrick cursed, then looked around. Maybe there was something they could jump into, but then he realised that both men were probably hurt and jumping into a dumpster wasn't the best way to go.

"Warrick, go back to the front and see if the fire brigade is already there. Tell them the situation, they'll know what to bring," Grissom ordered and with a quick nod, he turned to leave when Brass added:

"And tell the EMT's to get their asses here." When Warrick was gone, the detective looked around.

"Jim?"

"I don't like that they're stuck there and the kid is still running around. I want to see what's going on up there." Grissom couldn't but agree with this so he let the detective be, and concentrated on just listening, hoping his hearing wouldn't give out when he really needed it.

"Nicky, help is on the way, just hold on!" Grissom shouted and became concerned when there was no reply.

"Nick?"

"Uh, we may...have a little problem Gris," came the shaky reply and Grissom froze. He had a feeling that their time had just run out.

xxxxxxxxx

He wasn't sure what had really happened. He was sitting on the stairs, his upper body leaning against the wall, his right hand pressing protectively over the wound in his shoulder, the injured limb cradled in his lap. The world was a mass of grey and even though he was struggling to stay alert, all he could think of was the last thing he'd told his wife…"Don't be afraid, I'll be safe."

Now he was sitting here on the steps of the fire escape of an abandoned building, bleeding from a bullet wound and waiting for help with another guy who was in an even worse condition. As if it wasn't enough...something above them moved and both of them looked up, startled.

"What now?" Kyle asked in a whisper and looked at Nick, who unsteadily rose to his feet, the gun now resting in his left hand.

"Don't move," Nick hissed at him and Kyle nodded, pushing against the wall as if trying to vanish. When Nick saw Jonah crawling over the window sill then slowly heading down towards them, he was starting to regret that they had stayed here waiting for help, rather than taking the risk and trying to pass the first floor. Now it was too late to escape a confrontation with Jonah. Nick grit his teeth and took in a jagged breath, then pointed the gun up toward the approaching form. Seeing the movement, Jonah stopped several steps away from them. He looked down at Nick, a smirk showing on his soot smudged face.

That scared Nick. There was no reason for Jonah to smile that way and he could almost feel the glint in the kid's eye. Something had changed, something that made Jonah forget the cops that were all around, the fire, the dead body inside, something that allowed him to ignore everything, with the happiness of one who simply no longer cared. Nick could think only of two things that would make someone so undaunted by the situation and given Jonah's past, Nick voted for drugs. That wasn't good.

Looking around when they'd first climbed out of the window, Nick had discovered that the smoke belching out of the first floor window made it impossible to see the people below. He could still see the street and the cars parked a little further along, but it hadn't given him much in the way of comfort. Staring at Jonah as he loomed over them on the fire escape, he knew that all he could now do was face Jonah squarely and hope that the boy hadn't decided that going out in a hail of bullets would be the best way to go.

"Nicky, help is on the way, just hold on!"

Nick flinched. He'd totally forgotten about the others who were waiting on the street. He didn't know what to do...would it provoke Jonah into shooting if he replied? Or would Grissom calling to him make him more nervous? When Nick heard his name being called the second time, he saw the twitch of Jonah's hand and decided.

"Uh, we may...have a little problem Gris," Nick called out, his eyes not leaving Jonah's face and that was the only reason he saw the slight shake of his head.

"What kind of trouble?" The worry in Grissom's voice was obvious, as was the underlying but unspoken question, 'Can things get any worse?'

Nick had to suppress the urge to roll his eyes and shout at Grissom a list of ridiculous things that certainly could make things worse, like having a plane fall on top of them, or even being confronted with a pissed off skunk. Thinking of the fanciful things made him want to giggle, and he recognized the hint of hysteria that was creeping into his thoughts fueled by everything that had been happening. Shaking his head and biting his tongue, he managed to cram the feeling back into the imaginary box in his head and brought his attention back to the immediate problem.

"Jonah," he stated to Grissom as well as the man above him. Nick saw the change, and the comparison of flicking off a light switch came into his mind. The manic light in Jonah's eyes died, to be replaced with a lifeless stare.

"I don't know what to do anymore," he said with a tone that should've been resigned, but instead it was just hollow.

"Why don't you put your gun down, Jonah?" Nick asked in strained voice and hoped against everything that Jonah would do just that. The dry chuckle he heard was enough of a reply though.

"I won't go to jail." It was a statement, pure and simple. One that made Nick cringe and he tightened his grip on his gun.

"It doesn't have to end like this," Nick spoke with trembling voice and this time he saw the shake of the head.

"I killed that woman. I killed the man," Jonah said slowly. "And I enjoyed it," he added in such a way that Nick believed him. In the background, he could hear the sirens of approaching fire engines, but the sound seemed to come from far away, distorted by the static that was filling his ears. From below came the sounds of a muffled argument and inside the building that was being consumed by the fire, something heavy fell with a thud. Kyle was still pressing his body against the wall, crouching in the shadows, waiting, with the stink of fear literally rolling off him.

"It's just like with the drugs. Once you taste it, you have to try it again. I don't want to try anymore," Jonah spoke and the hand with the gun was slowly lowered. Nick let out a sigh of relief he didn't really feel. What happened next told him why. Jonah grabbed the railing and in one smooth move jumped over it.

"No!" Nick screamed but that was all he could do. He flinched when he heard the sick thud as the body hit the pavement. Nick could hear the commotion, the startled cries as the others converged on the fallen man, not knowing who had jumped, then Grissom's voice calling for an ambulance. Shuddering as everything caught up with him in a rush, Nick sank down to sprawl on the steps, his head resting against the metal railing and the gun dangling from his hand. He heard Warrick and Brass calling to him, desperately asking if they were okay, but the voices were being drowned by the buzzing in his ears that continued to grow louder and louder. The fact he was lying in an uncomfortable position on the stairs barely registered with him, and he lay there, staring at the night sky. It was dark, but it was okay. There was no one else to hurt them and his friends were coming. He could rest.

EPILOGUE

Nick blinked. It wasn't much but he was content with the simple movement as long as he didn't have to move any other muscle. It was almost three days after that awful night and he was still in his hospital room. It didn't seem fair, really. Travis had already been released, and was probably packing, ready to leave the city. Kyle Anders had also been discharged earlier that day and Nick thought it was wrong that he was still stuck here, because really, the man had been shot. Ok, the bullet had gone straight through, and the wound was clean and healing, still it just didn't seem fair: all Nick had was a few cuts and bruises…and a sliced arm…and some minor burns on his legs…fine, if he was totally honest, what kept him here was the smoke inhalation and the fact that the bullet graze on his side got infected. Nick grumbled quietly to himself about his enforced hospitalization. He knew the reasoning behind it, but he chose conversely to be grumpy about the whole thing.

The first day of his stay in the hospital, Nick had a hard time not rolling his eyes and nearly bit through his tongue when Catherine tried to give him one of her speeches about thinking before acting. That was, of course, right after she hugged him so hard that he was glad for the extra bit of oxygen coming through the nasal canula. Sara came in next. Her reaction was a little different though. She first punched him in the good arm, then grinned and told him how happy she was he was alive. She didn't talk about work and had to leave early when her pager beeped. Work was calling. After that Nick pretty much slept through the next day so it was only yesterday afternoon he found out that Jonah wasn't dead. It was Brass who told him and Nick was glad there was something to talk about, too afraid of the detective's wrath.

"The idiot just broke his leg. I don't understand the kid...if he wanted to die, he should've just shot himself in the head while he could," Jim said, sitting in the bedside chair and carefully shaking his head. He was in a relatively good mood, having finally woken up without the damn headache that had been troubling him for the last two days.

Nick shrugged at that.

"He was high as a kite. I'm just happy he didn't decide to shoot me."

"True. Which reminds me, Nicky...I believe I've already told you not to follow an armed suspect without backup-" Nick opened his mouth to disagree, but he was stopped by a warning glare and a raised hand. "In fact, I think you were told to go home."

"But I-" Nick tried to protest, but it was futile and for the next twenty minutes, he was biting his lip and finding enormous interest in his blanket, while Brass repeated several times why it was an absolutely stupid thing to do what he did. When Nick finally managed to argue that he had saved Kyle, the detective paused and for a moment just stared at Nick.

"Yeah, but we almost lost your stubborn Texan ass. You do it again and I will shoot you myself."

It was the third day when Grissom finally caught Nick awake and got a chance to give him some good news.

"Kyle Anders decided to testify about Alan Rickson, and Elizabeth Petey who was supposed to be the fourth victim agreed too. Jonah hadn't witnessed any meetings between Richard Kinsberg and Alan Rickson but we've crawled through the warehouse Kinsberg rented and found a cell phone-"

"Wait, who's Kinsberg?" Nick asked, confused.

"Jim didn't tell you?" Grissom frowned when Nick shook his head.

"No, but he told me plenty of things I didn't want to hear," he muttered. "So who is this guy?"

"You may know him as the Master. His real name was Richard Kinsberg. We found his prints in the database of the army; it just took some time to get the clearance for his file. He was a sniper."

"Figures," Nick muttered. "So will we be able to get Alan Rickson?"

"Like I was saying, we found a cell phone. It was the type with a built in camera. Archie found a file with Rickson talking about the job."

"So the Mas- this Kinsberg, he was planning to blackmail Rickson?" Nick asked in surprise.

Grissom shrugged in reply.

"Or it was just insurance, in case Alan Rickson was reluctant to pay the full price of the job. Who knows."

"Will it be enough to get Rickson into court and convicted?"

"It was enough for the DA to organize a warrant to search his house and to freeze his bank accounts. All his cases will be inspected."

Nick grimaced at that, knowing what it meant. Even if Rickson put only one bad guy behind bars, that bad guy now had grounds for an appeal to re-open his case. On the other hand, Rickson had probably let several of those bad guys go free.

"Did you see Travis?" Grissom asked suddenly, pulling Nick out of his thoughts.

"Yeah, he stopped by earlier. He's leaving town, heading north, probably Canada. You know, I think Jim must've scared the hell out of him," Nick said with a smirk that quickly vanished when he remembered just why Travis was leaving.

"He told me he couldn't stay here. There are too many bad memories here for him, and he doesn't like the feel of the city anymore. He says he needs a change, to start again. I thought he would return home, to Dallas."

"Well, if he wants to start again, going home wouldn't be his first choice," Grissom mused and watched as Nick played with the edge of the blanket.

"Probably not," the younger CSI agreed, then grinned. "I can't really say I'm surprised. I've known Jim for some time, but he still put a hell of a scare into me yesterday. I can only imagine what he told Travis."

"Hmm…maybe the same things I wanted to tell you when I found out you went after the Master," Grissom said with a smirk of his own and Nick sighed, thinking he was about to get another lecture about getting himself into dangerous situations. Suddenly, something occurred to him and he looked pointedly at the entomologist.

"You know we never got to talk about this hearing problem of yours, Grissom," Nick said and watched as the man froze. His hands reached for his glasses as he tried to buy some time pretending to be cleaning them. Nick cleared his throat and Grissom looked up with a sigh. His first reaction was to try and play dumb, but then he looked at Nick and knew that below the shirt there was a wound that was there because he didn't hear a warning shout. He knew that if Nick hadn't been so lucky, that bullet might've done much more damage than just grazed him. Yes, Grissom owed Nick an explanation and something else too. He had to find the courage and solve the situation before someone else paid an even higher price for him. It was time to take the leap.

The End


End file.
